


Deduce Your Own Adventure

by Jimlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Canonical Character Death, Choices, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Ending, Fluff, Gen, Johnbastian, Johnlock Smut, M/M, Minor riding crop torture, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Possible Character Death, Sheriarty smut, Smut, Some Humor, Violence, johniarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:31:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 99
Words: 35,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimlockian/pseuds/Jimlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlockian, old fashioned, Choose Your Own Adventure book!! At the end of each scene (chapter) you are presented with choices which can lead to any number of options – three different cases, a chase, four romantic pairings (navigational Johnlock & Sheriarty/Jimlock smuts!), three main characters to kill, kidnappings of different characters, rewritten RBF, endings that are odd, happy, angst-filled, humorous, fluffy, smutty  - all from choices made by you!</p><p>Will you take the case of a body turning up where it oughtn't be, or a stolen artifact from a museum, or perhaps theft after a lover's quarrel? Will you find Johnlock, Sheriarty/Jimlock, Johniarty or minor Johnbastian? Is Sherlock witty or romantic? Does John's nobility last? Is Jim patient or naughty? Will you make it to the chase scene, or to RBF?  Fluff or smut? Your choice will decide!</p><p>Choices: 2-3 varying solutions for each case, many pairing themed storylines/endings; 5+ Johnlock & Jimlock, 3 Johniarty (NEW: smut, fluff endings), 2 Johnbastian, 1 Morlock... +25 endings! {FINISHED}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Start

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT CLICK NEXT CHAPTER BUTTON 
> 
> THIS IS A CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE - NOT A CHAPTER NOVEL
> 
> At the end of each chapter (scene) you will be presented with options. Click the option which is a link to a randomly numbered chapter that will lead to whatever follows/is the consequence of your choice. =D
> 
> If you reach a dead end, hit backspace, and pick something else. Or go back to chapter one, which is the beginning, and start afresh. 
> 
> There are many, many routes possible to this so you can visit this story more then once and walk away with a different tale each time!
> 
> Thank you to my betas: SkinnyLittleLesbian and Take-It-Away-Ernie.

Thick, fat drops of London rain have been petering down against the windowpanes all day. A heavy fog sprang up three hours earlier or so, like a blanket but without any warmth. Aside from the cold, rain, and fog, the biggest deterrent to them leaving 221b is lack of a case.

John Watson has already thrown a blanket across his legs as he updates his blog. He is an unassuming looking man with brown waves just edging toward the start of premature gray. John is a bit round about the middle, though not by much.  
  
Presently, John has been trying to ignore the budding boredom of his flatmate, who rattles around the place like a pent up animal in a cage. For the most part he can tune out the majority of the detective's diatribes, but today Sherlock seems keen to be particularly industrious when no energy is needed.

The flat is warm, and their tea is hot.. In many respects John finds it to be a relaxing day the further into it they go. Sometimes taking a day off from his crazy life feels good, and he believes he can appreciate it more now that he has them less often; A day without a gun pointed at him, or having to point one himself, without loose body parts in the fridge next to his leftover Chinese..

Sherlock cannot say the same of course, his mind feeling on fire without anything to quench it. A case lets him work, it gives him something to focus his attention to, not just the thrilling exploration of fact. Without a case he feels stagnant, yet so alert because there is nothing else to focus on but repetitious declarations of facts. It is almost a chilling feeling, having a mind that cannot wander, cannot daydream.

For the most part his morning and afternoon are spent thrashing against this hefty boredom threatening to settle him into a gloom, though he does accomplish a studious endeavor or two.  
  
That evening they are interrupted, is it by...

 **[John's phone, receiving a text.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775201)**  
  
 **[Sherlock spotting something on the web.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775205)**  
  
 **[A ring from the doorbell.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775196)**  
  
  
(Click one of the above choices to start your adventure, not the Next Chapter button!)  



	2. 107

They are interrupted by a sound which pricks the ears of both men – one long ring from their doorbell. No alteration in its flow, which means a firm press. A client.  
  
Soon the clatter of footsteps falls and John straightens himself up expectantly. He looks to the blasé form of his colleague and best friend before standing and heading to the door. John opens it just as a man in his late fifties reaches the top step.  
  
“Sherlock Holmes?” He inquires in a huff at John, stare almost begrudging.  
  
“No,” John replies with forced politeness, motioning behind him. “I'm Doctor John Watson.”

The man nods and enters, turning his vivid gaze on Sherlock. “You must take my case, Mr. Holmes.” The provoked sounding man sits when John gestures to the sofa. For a moment he looks from the furniture to the detective, uncertain whether to shake his hand, but when Holmes does not move to greet him he sinks into the cushion. “My name is Roger Cantlemere.” He looks with determination at Sherlock, “You're the only one who can give me any peace of mind.”  
  
Sherlock's eyes have already done their customary wandering and so far he does not think this will be a mystery worth looking into. From a faint blood stain upon the knuckles of this client Sherlock can tell that he has been in fist fight, and has not wiped them off because he had not noticed due to his emotions when the punch was struck. A pale band around his finger signifies a recently removed wedding ring. Obviously an affair of the heart, and exactly the sort of thing Holmes does not view as worth dabbling in.  
  
“I need you to clear my wife's name – not just for her sake, but for my own solace.” The man insists, shaking his head. “And that of my blasted so called friend.” A bitter twinge come into his voice at the declaration.  
  
“Affairs are not my area of interest.” Sherlock says dismissively. To him it appears like a simple matter; The man is angry, his wife has cheated on him (with his own chum apparently), and he cannot accept that. Open and shut case.  
  
“She is not that sort of woman! I refuse to believe it.” Denies the older man with insistence yet his anger remains equally strong. “I implore you to take this case – I'll pay ten thousand pounds if you can explain what went on that night and recover my wife's stolen jewelry.”  
  
  
 **[Sherlock takes the case..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775240)**  
  
 **[ Sherlock finds this case dull...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775270)**


	3. 105

As much as John enjoys the quiet moments curled up at home in a snug position with a warm cup of tea, it is the excitement and danger of the oddly fitting job he plays as Sherlock's blogger and assistant that he loves. A thrilling excitement and feeling on the cusp of being alive in every fiber of his being, that John had found alluring on first meeting Sherlock, almost always awaits on their cases. It is no surprise that he sits up with interest.

“Sherlock.” John moves the laptop off his thighs and throws the blanket aside swiftly after. “Lestrade has a case you might be interested in.”

Sherlock murmurs a noncommittal noise that John knows is pacification without listening to him at all. He snatches up John's laptop and begins to use it to check his website.  
  
“Murder. Strangulation.” John reads the highlights out of Lestrade's texts. “Body found at a landfill. But nobody came in that day.”  
  
The soft clicking and shifting noises of typing cease after John has spoken. “Any signs of a struggle?” Sherlock asks carefully, considering it.  
  
“Yes,” John refers to the second half of the text. “It says conflicting injuries, too.” He adds to make it more appealing to Sherlock.

“So, what do you think?” Asks John as he finishes relaying the last of the information.  
  
  
 ** ****[Sherlock takes the case.  
](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775208)  
** ******[Sherlock finds this case too dull.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775225)** _ ****  
_


	4. 106

Sherlock has decided to check his website for any cases and now he found one – someone had forwarded a news story that they thought Holmes would be interested in. They were right.  
  
“This, John.” Sherlock murmurs, half coherent while internally abuzz with all the stimulating sensation a new case brings. Instead of feeling stuck while careening out of control he is alight with promise.  
  
The rapid flicker of his eyes has John sitting up curiously – whatever Sherlock has found fully occupies his attention.  
  
“What is it, Sherlock?” John asks with a scratch to his nose, head turning in the detective's direction.  
  
The angular face across from him is too absorbed to reply at first, his cheeks slightly puckered as he processes whatever information is on the computer screen before him. “Fourteenth century pilgrim's badge taken without triggering the alarms.” His fingers drum with pent up energy, voice softening with the barest hint of mirth, “No clues whatsoever.”

“A what?” John inquires blankly, drawn from his own relaxation into whatever Sherlock has just found online.  
  
“A pilgrim's badge – centuries old relic, mass produced by shrines for sale.” From the slower cadence to his voice it is clear Sherlock is sharing things as he picks up information from the web. “The world's first souvenirs, John.” Sherlock licks his lips. “The French had a revolution?” He murmurs, speaking as if it is news before clicking to scroll down.  
  
“How could you miss the French Revolution?” John's eyes bulge a touch in the same manner they had upon realizing Sherlock was in the dark ages before heliocentric theory.  
  
“They didn't show up at my door with bayonets.” Murmurs Sherlock irately, turning a touch snippy as John points out an unimportant intellectual deficiency.  
  
John sighs softly under his breath at that response before turning the attention back to the previous topic, “This relic was stolen?”  
  
“As if by a ghost.” Sherlock says, quoting the article. They seemed to be interpreting it as a ghost because the power failed right before the prized treasure was stolen. He is already taking to the web to get a little more understanding on what happened by finding another article – after all, each writer will have their own angle. It's Sherlock's job to sift through the bias.  
  
“Then you're taking the case?” John asks, reclining back in his chair to look upon his flatmate who has begun typing away.  
  
 ****[Sherlock already has – two steps ahead of you, John.  
](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775345)  
 ********   **[There is no case to take...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775362)**


	5. 115

John feels minor relief as Sherlock puts his own laptop aside. He holds out an elegant hand for John's mobile and reads the message himself, confirming the details as given by John. “To Rainham landfill.” Sherlock declares, standing and heading away to change out of his dressing gown.

The blogger's prior relief dissipates at finding himself traveling with a bored detective for nearly an hour. Sherlock is anxious, and John is eager for action in his own way.

Rainham landfill has various police officers strewn over the rubble. A concentration in the distance presents the location of the body before they arrive through the gate. One of the local officers meets Sherlock and John as they enter, waving away someone asking for clearance.

“You must be Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I'm Greg's colleague, Detective Inspector Bradstreet.” They take turns shaking hands with a portly man in his mid-forties.

“Come this way..” D.I Bradstreet leads them to double back, heading for a small booth beside the entrance. The area is fenced in, with the booth beside the only gate. “Security found nobody coming or going on the premises all day.” He begins to replay the tape at high speed, showing the passage of the day in shadows on the ground. Indeed, nobody approached.

“The walls are just over three yards. Nobody could have hoisted a body over bare handed.” Remarks Bradstreet wryly. He cannot fathom how the body arrived in the trash dump without being seen.

Sherlock checks the video footage and finds it to be authentic, ruling out tampering. Thus with little use of the footage he requests to see the body and the trio makes their way out of the security booth.  
  
“This is an active landfill. Whomever left the victim already knew it would be a feasible option..” Comments Sherlock as they makes their way to the body, ignoring the stinging, wafting odors.  
  
John looks around them, noticing a small crane in the distance shifting the heaping piles of trash. Aside from the crane it is an empty, wide expanse of hills made from debris. With no one else here it would be an easy place to get into, and one could assume a body would be buried quickly by the garbage.  
  
Their victim lies sprawled in a sad, lolling heap that resembles a doll tossed aside more than it does a human being. He is a well tanned man in his thirties with sandy hair dressed in a casual suit. His pupils thrown wide, lip bloodied, and one hand in a fist. The man is badly bruised about the face and what is visible of his neck. Most of his neck is wrapped tightly in a thick white rope with small flecks of orange throughout.  
  
Sherlock examines him for clues and finds that he is a golfer, from Hounslow, and he is having an affair if the state of his wedding ring is any indication. When the detective begins to look into his fatal injuries he finds something delightfully puzzling. “The rope is not the cause of death.”

After that declaration John moves in closer, leaning forward over bent knees. The top two coils have been unwound from the victim's neck, revealing strange markings in his skin.

“There are two sets of imprints.” Remarks John in awe of what he sees. There is one set, clearer around the sides and back of his neck than in front, with an uneven thickness, and a second even set that matches up with the rope over it. The first set is much darker.  
  
“The first may be the true cause of death, the second inflicted post-mortem.” Sherlock is already rising to his feet while John looks over their victim's throat. He strides past the others.  
  
“So he was strangled, then hung?” Questions Bradstreet, more befuddled by the minute...  
  
  
 **[Head to the lab and examine the body..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775218)**  
  
 **[Explore the area for clues...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775222)**


	6. 116

Sherlock and John follow Detective Inspector Bradstreet into a mortuary to examine the body. The place is no St. Bart's but it suits their purposes. John does not think he will ever become comfortable in any morgue, preferring his work with the living, though Sherlock seems too intent to notice anything but his goal.

With a scientific expertise he takes to examining the victim for any subtle details overlooked in the original study. Sherlock examines everything from under fingernails to the state of his scalp. He finds little aside from a few moles.  
  
As he moves down the victim's neck Sherlock scrapes a negligible bit of yellow dust off the rope, putting it on a slide. Then he takes a sample of the victim's skin and also sets it aside for analysis.  
  
“Richmond..” Murmurs Sherlock to himself, tapping on a keyboard to input the recent pollen analysis – the result of the yellow dusting along the rope. He raises a brow as the victim's skin comes back with pollen matching the chemical makeup of Hounslow – a fascinating but painfully obvious discrepancy.

“The murder was not committed at the landfill, as I'm sure you're already aware.” Sherlock informs the Detective Inspector who nods knowingly. “Our victim is from Hounslow and our killer's boat had been in Richmond.”  
  
Sherlock is given perplexed stares from both John and D.I Bradstreet, who were not aware of how the ebony haired man arrived at such a conclusion. “Pollen is like a genetic signature – and that on here,” He points to the victim's body, “Does not match that of this line.” He turns his attention to the rope, still half wrapped around the dead man's throat. “We may conclude a discrepancy in location.”

“And.. the boat?” Bradstreet murmurs with apologetic cluelessness.

“How could you miss the obvious?” Now it is Sherlock's turn for confusion, for he cannot fathom how the other two have missed something so blatant.

“Orange is unusual..” Comments John, who has picked up on that oddity. After following Sherlock so closely he has learned a thing or two about what to look for. Most rope is a single solid color, white or brown usually.  
  
“The striping pattern is to differentiate from other lines when a person is using many at once – this is normal for mountain climbing and sailing. We can rule out the former; As it's the quality and thickness of a ship's line.” Sherlock murmurs as he begins to take on his superior air, ready for a long tirade to prove the utter ignorance of the others but they both seemed stumped enough. “Clearly their vessel to move the body into the landfill was a ship via the Thames.”

His fingers flitter away to type into his cell phone, seeking precise answers, “The Thames' depth between Richmond and Teddington allows for a heel of one and three-quarters of a meter (five and a half feet).” Now they have some detail on the vessel in question. It does not rule out much, but Sherlock is just getting started...  
  


********[Wait, is that John's phone buzzing?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775234)**  
  
 ****   **[Five hours later...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775229)  
 ****  



	7. 118

“Not a hanging, no.” Sherlock's remark is offhanded, already looking over the rubbish piles around them and getting a curious expression. John knows to stick to his tail when that look comes over Sherlock's face, and sure enough the detective begins to walk away from the body. He ignores the police around them, intent on his exploring.

Bradstreet gets left behind by both men. They find themselves before a tall piece of security that is physically impossible to climb over unassisted. Its height is beyond that of human capability.  
  
“The Thames is on the other side.” States Sherlock, looking carefully at the wall. “John, I believe I know how our killer arrived here.”  
  
“On the river?” John is dubious yet willing when the theory comes from Sherlock's mouth.

“Precisely.” His fingers flitter away to type into his cell phone, seeking precise answers, “A sea arrival would explain the lack of notice at the front gate.” He stops taping the touch screen. “The Thames' depth between Richmond and Teddington allows for a heel of one and three-quarters of a meter (five and a half feet).” Now they have starting details on the vessel in question. It does not rule out much, but Sherlock is just getting started. “That's large enough for a small cruising yacht.” He backs up, taking a look up at the wall while craning his neck.

“How does a boat get a body over a wall that size?” Inquires John, looking open mouthed from Sherlock to the flat vertical in front of them. It seemed confusing.  
  
“A recreational vessel's mast can be thirty to forty feet in height, John. A pulley system rigged up on the mast, or a hoisting device used for dinghies, would easily bear the weight of a body.” Sherlock makes it sound likes child's play, with each detail bare before his hawk eyes. He takes no time whatsoever to form those words, leaving the other man a bit speechless once again.

“No sign of damage to the rope with the body, or any fibers on the wall.” He waves for a nearby police officer, sending someone to fetch a ladder to confirm what his eyes fail see on the wall.  
  
“Which means..?” John questions without following at first.  
  
“We can extrapolate the vessel's specifications, among other things.” Sherlock replies, already knowing that without any fibers on the wall they must have cleared it easily. A wall of that height is a great clue – soon he would have a description of the vessel in question.  

******[Five hours later...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775229)** ****  
  
**[Is that John's phone vibrating?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775234)**


	8. 125

“Boring.” Sherlock states flatly, letting out a sigh that would sound embellished on anyone else, but it fits the strange man whose mind runs rampant.  
  
“But you're bored now – you don't have a case.” John cannot help but remark, impressed and rebuffed by Sherlock's standards.  
  
Looking at such a case is like having a professor work on a primary school student's homework. “A landfill is the mark of a thoughtless criminal.” Sherlock's voice gains a terse touch at that. He lets his narrow gaze wander over to his companion.  
  
John furrows his brows with confusion and when Sherlock catches his expression he elaborates, even if only a little. “Thoughtless minds rarely leave anything of value to me.” Sherlock murmurs with a shake of his head. “The drive will be a waste of time.”  
  
“Sherlock..” John begins with pursed lips, only to have the consulting detective throw him an exasperated look. 

The pale, stately figure waves a hand flippantly, “Tell Lestrade no.”  
  
Then the sandy haired man sighs, taking his phone and acquiescing. John knows better than to try to force the detective into something he does not want to do. He heads into the kitchen to freshen up the tea pot.  
  
 ******[Does the doorbell ring?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775196)  
** **  
 ******[Or is that Mrs. Hudson knocking?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775341)   
  
**[There is a knock on the door, and it is not Mrs. Hudson's..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1780625)**


	9. 117

Five hours later and their case was over.  
  
Sherlock had taken to the corpse and wrung out every last fact he could find until they had a clear picture of their killer and the murdering ship's location. Everything was in the hands of Scotland Yard after that, so the two could return to their flat, feeling at ease with a job well done..  
  
Except for one thing.  
  
The victim's wallet had been examined, and Sherlock found a peculiar trace amount of West Hampstead pollen on one of the man's credit cards. It was only just enough to register, possibly statistically insignificant, yet Sherlock had a niggling feeling to hang on and dig deeper.  
  
The detective searched the recent records of that specific card and found that it was used in West Hampstead. He had John note the address and turned to his flatmate, “The game's still afoot. Come on.”  
  
 **[You heard him, come on...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775320)**


	10. 130

“Sherlock, Bradstreet is texting. He wants to know -” Begins John as he looks over the small LCD screen, but he is cut off by the detective, who straightens up.

“I've worked it out.” Too simple, yet just outside the scope of the Yard's abilities. Sherlock is disappointed with how swift and simplistic this case was.

“Phone.” Sherlock waits for John to take his phone out and hand it over, ignoring the other man's gentle touch in his jacket pocket. The moments of intimacy between them there in simple things – like forcing John to get his phone when its on his own person.  
  
The pale man takes to fast clicking over the phone's keyboard, sending a simple text for D.I Bradstreet to seek out a marina to find his murderer. Drug running ring. Painfully boring.  
  
As Sherlock and John walk out they pass by the man's personal effects being taken down in a large bin. Sherlock halts and plucks up a curious looking playing card – a joker, though it seems to have an Alice In Wonderland theme for it is the Mad Hatter character dressed in jester attire. Written in felt tip across the top of the card was _Nosh, sevenish?_

Sherlock turns the playing card over on their cab ride home, having insisted on taking it with him. He tells the mortuary workers to talk to both Lestrade and Bradstreet when they try to stop him.

“Should I ask?” John says after watching him for a time. When Sherlock says nothing John shrugs, “I thought the case was over.”  
  
“It is.” Sherlock agrees solidly. He glances up from the card and catches John's wry twisted look, leading Sherlock to emphatically explain, “The case itself is over, but its catalyst continues.”

John looks from the card to its holder, lips beginning to stretch into a soft frown as he muddles along with his friend's thinking. “Moriarty?”

Sherlock nods. Of course this is yet another pie that the man has stuck his fingers into. Not every criminal activity may bear the thumb prints to prove Moriarty's arrangement of it, but Sherlock knows it. This one is downright obvious – which means the Irishman is up to something.

“So that makes this card, what?” John asked after turning the card over and trying to examine it with Sherlockian eyes, but all he could make out was the meaning behind the words, “An invitation?”  
  
Sherlock nods sagely, sitting back and intending to mull it over the rest of the cab ride home.  
  
 ******[Does John not like the sound of this?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775289)  
  
 ******  [Has Sherlock already made up his mind?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775315)


	11. 315

A seemingly obvious affair is nothing to concern Sherlock's valuable time. However, stolen jewelry interests Sherlock, who knows something that is beyond a coincidence when he sees it; An affair and theft at once sounds more like something he could sink his teeth into – so Sherlock nods to the man that he may continue.  
  
The elder man swallows and girds himself to say his next words, “The short of it is that I went up to my bedroom and I found my wife acting oddly. I proceeded to look around the room and noticed the wardrobe door ajar.. when I pulled it open I found one of my so-called friends! Fully dressed, with both insisting nothing had happened.”  
  
“You hit him because you did not believe him?” Sherlock inquires to move the story along, wanting to find more facts to ensure it is as interesting as he hopes. After all, it may just be wishful thinking from a dull night. When the man looks surprised at Holmes' words he points to the man's knuckles.

Hurriedly he wipes off the sparse blood stains. “Yes.. What else was I to do in the heat of the moment?” He adds grudgingly, looking down in seething displeasure.  
  
“Continue.” Sherlock commands with an unintentional curt air as he strives to gain more detail.  
  
“Well the blighter left, didn't he?” He adds as if it were obvious and not worth forcing him to state. “Ran right out of the house, all the while insisting like some damned fool..” He shakes his head slightly. “After that I went back to my wife, we argued, and I slept on the couch.”

“The jewelery, Mr. Cantlemere?” Sherlock pushes ahead without pause, barely letting Roger's lips stop before he spoke.  
  
“The next day my wife came to me saying a piece of her jewelry had been taken. At first I thought it was an attempt to get back into my good graces but after she begged me to look I found one thing missing. I had our maid search the house for my wife's pearls. She couldn't find them – she's a good honest girl putting herself through school and wouldn't have done it.”

“Did your wife's lover leave with them?” Sherlock inquires, teetering between interest and boredom.  
  
“No reason to – he is a wealthy man with a noble title.” The older man turns bitter as he thinks of the two that have wronged his spirit, “Jewels of that caliber would not be of his interest – the pearls are worth ten thousand pounds.”  
  
“Leave me all the names. I'll send John on to examine the scene of the crime.” Sherlock replies in a definite manner. He thrums his fingers together and then stands, “Good day, Mr Cantlemere.”  
  
“You're not coming to my home in West Hampstead?” Asks the man, his surprise a bit undignified yet John could see the drain of hope in his eyes – as if fearing Holmes' trivial approach meant he thought it was a simple matter with a dark end for his marriage.  
  
“John's my best man.” Sherlock is done with it and, when the other man gives him a glare for sticking him with the job he shakes his head. “Level three at best, John.”

“I don't know what you mean but I take that as an insult, sir.” Gripes the older gentleman, standing. “This is my wife we're talking about.”  
  
“And my time, which I have offered to you. If you don't want it fine.” His brows arch up with the end of his comment.

Sherlock's sharp retort has finished the other man off. Roger Cantlemere stands befuddled before nodding. “Alright... I'll see you at my home...?”  
  
“Doctor Watson.” John supplies.  
  
“Yes, Doctor Watson. Thank you.” He picks up his hat and nods to them, cheeks a touch rouged by his outburst. Their new client leaves on fleet foot.  
  
“You better go to bed early, John.” Remarks Sherlock in a mockery of obvious. The man will have to go, taking the laptop and checking the house out. Something did not sit right in all this..  
  
  
Sherlock is busy checking out his own concerns, but does John:  
  
 ******[Insist they both go tomorrow!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775247)**  
 **  
 ****   **[Turn in early for the case. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775252)  
  
****[Stay up to gripe about being a sidekick... ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775262)


	12. 312

“Sherlock, I don't want to go roaming around a house alone with him.” John says in quick retort, shaking his head. Domestic, burglary, or something more, the fact of the matter was he felt tired of being Sherlock's lackey.  
  
“I'm not going, John.” Sherlock replies stiffly.  
  
John's fingers curled inward as his frown etched deeper into his face. The other man's selfishness could be overwhelming at times. He slams the laptop shut, and when Sherlock does not look up at the forceful loudness he pushes it aside and begins to stomp away.  
  
When John reaches the doorway, ready to head up to his bedroom, he hears Sherlock's voice flow into his ear like a strand of spider web dancing on the window. “Does it really matter that much to you, John?”  
  
“Of course.” Says the doctor who so often feels like nothing more than a side kick, even though he knows where he truly stands in Sherlock's books.

The next day Sherlock will act as if he has a grudge, yet nonetheless the next morning he will be dressed and ready to leave at John's side...  
  
 ******[Onward to the adventure!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775320)**


	13. 316

A little while later John heads up to his bedroom, ready to catch some shut eye to prepare him for a busy morning that would begin with a forty minute train ride and end doing reconnaissance for the world's laziest consultant detective.  
  
As expected the man slept in, and when John arrived at the Cantlemere's home and sets up the link to Sherlock, he sees the man dressed in a sheet. Typical of him.  
  
John carries the laptop up into the master bedroom, taking a slow careful jaunt around the room while holding the device bearing Sherlock's image with a modicum of care.  
  
“This is exactly as you found the room?” Sherlock asks through the laptop.  
  
“Yes. My wife has been staying at her sister's since the unpleasant incident.” Replies Mr. Cantlemere, who hovers around the edge of the room.  
  
“Try her jewelry box.” Sherlock orders John, leaning in and staring at the room with a focused gaze. His tea cup lies abandoned inches away from him, still steaming. “Was it open when you walked in?”  
  
Roger Cantlemere shakes his head then realizes he ought speak since Sherlock is not there to see him. “No, it was closed.”  
  
Miles away, John obeys Sherlock instead of their client and reaches out one handed to flip it. The clasp is heavy and seems caught. John apologizes to Sherlock and sets the laptop down, having to jiggle the clasp with both hands before it opens.  
  
Sherlock's view shifts as John resumes holding the laptop, aiming it down to see inside the fully stocked jewelry box. Nothing taken but the pearls.  
  
 ** **[Sherlock has solved the case..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775258)**** **  
  
**[John sees men in suits behind Sherlock!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775257)


	14. 318

The doorbell has rang twice in the past five minutes, but Sherlock ignored it. He was too busy absorbed in watching the room. Yet as the flat was entered it seemed clear that they had tired of waiting. ****  
  
“Sherlock – who is that..” John begins with confusion at seeing a muscular figure in a suit walk in and reach for the detective's laptop. It ends up being closed and John is left staring at static, feeling lost.

* * *

  
Then without warning John is left exhilarated as he finds himself being spirited away to Buckingham Palace. He could not believe it – he, John Watson, was in Buckingham Palace itself.  
  
He walks in, awed, and begins one of the most memorable moments of his life – with Sherlock Holmes, in a sheet, waiting on a couch...  
  
 **[Continue onward..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777253)**


	15. 319

“What are your wife's hobbies?” Sherlock's voice cuts into the room as crisply as if he were standing there beside them.  
  
“Well, she's fond of gardening, social networking, card playing, budgie husbandry..” The husband in question rattles off a list.  
  
Sherlock sits back and steeples his fingers curiously for a few moments. Then he deflates, sighing and letting out a frustrated exclamation. “Boring!” ****  
  
“I'm sorry?” The man looks from the screen to John, who is equally as in the dark as Cantlemere.  
  
“Your wife hasn't been having an affair.” Sherlock scowls at him with disgust at his intellect.“The hinge!” John looks over at the jewelry box and frowns, wondering how that old piece of sentimental value is the key.  
  
“John needed two hands to open it. If it had been opened, with only one thing taken, that would mean they only wanted this piece, but what about closing it? A simple thief would not waste the precious several seconds necessary to fiddle with the latch.” So, Sherlock thought, then they took what they needed and left because they had time. Cantlemere's appearance must have come after the jewelry box had been closed. Thus Mrs. Cantlemere had to have been there to see the other man take them and since Roger fought him the man had an easy escape with the stolen pearls concealed within his jacket or some other such place.  
  
“An inside job – the pearls are fake.” Sherlock concludes with a dull shake of his head. In the end it had been so clear. “Your wife is a poker player or some other sort of gambler – can one gamble at bridge?” He ponders out loud in a soft musing voice, speaking more or less to himself, before picking right up where he left off.  
  
“She bets the pearls or sells them for side cash and decides to bluff her way out with an imitation, but later, fearing your realization, has a friend or perhaps friend's husband come in and steal them to remove the problem.” Sherlock nods with certainty. Shame can make a person risk things to assuage their own soul, and it seems Mrs. Cantlemere was up to exactly that. “Your wife is not cheating on you – unless you count her gambling habit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you hit an early ending – hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	16. 317

“I'm fine.” John replies tersely while sighing and grumbling over to the other man. “I wish they'd get my name right.” He opens the newspaper with the force of a child unwrapping a present but by some miracle it remains intact. ****  
  
Feeling not as thrilled with the case, since it is a low level problem, Sherlock is already up and moving. He plans to spend the remaining evening hours doing experiments. He may have promised an hour of his morning, but that does not mean he needs to be idle now.  
  
As Sherlock crosses the room he notices visible signs that John is put off and slows down. “It bothers you that much – what other people think?” ****  
  
“Normally no, but this time, yes.” John grumbles from behind the gray printed page. He sighs, knowing it is a foolish attack of emotion and immaturity that he should have shaken years ago. “The world sees me as your sidekick.”  
  
Sherlock shakes his head slightly, his retort crisp and light, “And you lectured me for using the word enemy?” ****  
  
“Seriously, Sherlock,” John says, sounding flatlined where humor was concerned. “What am I?”

“You're the only one I would have here.” Sherlock replies simply, his words genuine and succinctly to the point. He rarely bares his scarce feelings, but when he does it is eloquent.  
  
 **[Romantic ending!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775299)**  
  
 **[Platonic is their bread and butter..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775297)**


	17. 325

Though he took a great deal of offense the man was refused by Sherlock, and he left once certain he would not be getting what he wanted. Thus the two residents of Baker Street could resume their leisurely evening.

* * *

  
The next day a letter came by special delivery – an overnight express if John read the outside correctly. He carries it up to the flat, finding Sherlock bent over what looked like a concoction of breakfast cereal and cat's vomit. “Letter for you.” Remarks John while looking through the rest of the mail.  
  
Sherlock murmurs and John sighs, setting down the other envelopes in order to rip the package open. “'Dear Mr. Holmes,” He begins to read, “My husband has visited you to beg for your keen talents, and now I do the same. We can offer the sum of eight thousand pounds for your services but I dearly swear that no amount will equal the goodness you may put back into our marriage.”  
  
John pauses but continues when Sherlock does not rebuke it. “I, Claudia Cantlemere, swear upon all that I have in this world that I have never cheated on my husband. He will not believe me as I can offer him no explanation as to why, two nights ago, one of his colleagues whose name I omit for his own sake, was found in my wardrobe. There was no occasion for him to be there so it came as a great shock to my husband. I can swear our reasons were nothing untoward. After harsh words Roger hit our friend and sent him off into the night. The next day I informed my husband that I had noticed several thousand pounds worth of jewelry missing. There are no signs of a burglary whatsoever.”

“I have been following Doctor J. Watson's blog with much enthusiasm..” He begins to grin to himself here, “And am enthralled by your skills in uncovering truth. I hope you will bring those talents with due discretion, to our home and restore the calm in our household.'” John stops using such a clear speaking voice and flips the letter to be sure there is nothing on the back, “That's it, apart from her signature – signed Mrs. Claudia Cantlemere.”  
  
By the end of the letter Sherlock is less attentive to his experiment and finally takes the page from John. He tilts the page and studies not the words but their makeup. “Do you understand graphology, John?”  
  
“Only the little you've gotten into my head..” John admits with faint fondness and good humor alike.

“This is written in her own hand.” Begins Sherlock.  
  
“Oh?” John says without realizing the relevance of such.

Sherlock notices his ignorance and pauses, “If her maid or her husband had written it the style of writing in the signature would be entirely different.. There is no point in studying _their_ writing.”

“Right.” John nods that he may continue, not that Sherlock ever really waits for his permission but he gives it all the same.  
  
“The body is not similar to the signature.” Begins the detective again, only to be interrupted.  
  
“I thought you just said...” John starts, only to have Sherlock intercede.  
  
“I said she wrote it in full, not that there are no discrepancies. A signature is different.” He nearly sounds annoyed, but John is not bothered. He knows Sherlock is just getting started. “A signature is how a person views themselves – hers is stiffer than her letter's body.”  
  
Sherlock's eyes scan through the page for a moment. “While not one to try and impress others she does seem to polish herself, if this is any indication..”  
  
 **[“But she is honest,” he notices.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775273) **  
  
**[Dull. Throws letter in the fireplace.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775271)   
**


	18. 326

“Quite a likely candidate for a person who would keep a lover in a cupboard, to say nothing of her wardrobe.” Sherlock remarks with a scoff. He shakes his head at the masterful stroke of her pen, but only the basics are attended to. Within little embellishments he sees her true personality.

As usual, more of the well-to-do trying to buy his time to fix their own lives. Uselessly dull, and not worth his time at all. Sherlock crumples the letter in his hand, balling it up and tossing the crisp paper into the fireplace. Case rejected to both parties on the grounds of being completely and utterly boring.

Yet now Sherlock is more bored than ever...

Another empty night, craving his smokes and charging around the flat like someone has lit a fire under him, only to collapse into despondent lethargy.  
  
Why couldn't criminals be cleverer? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you hit an early ending – hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	19. 329

“While not one to try and impress others she does seem to polish herself if this is any indication but overall I see she is honest. Given the straight flow of her writing she is a composed person that can handle adapting.” Sherlock states in a rapid-fire analysis, eyes still on the letter in his hands.

“So an honest woman that just wants the world to see her best side?” John checks curiously.

“Yes. Deceit is seen in letters open at the bottom, usually with oval shaping.. Hers open at the top which is the mark of a sincere busybody.” Sherlock looks it over for any more hinting clues outside of the message itself.

“So did she not have an affair – even though the other guy was found in her bedroom?” John says with minor doubt.

With a slight nod the slender man refolds the letter, finding a new light via these facts, as well as the curious imploring of an honest woman. “This case is worth an hour.”  
  
John looks to him and beings to smile, feeling assurance as Sherlock's humanity once again pokes itself into view like a sloth appearing from its dormancy. Though intrigue is his indicator for accepting cases, once in a blue moon John sees it bend for the sake of something more.

**[Tea time with John?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777796) **


	20. 131

 However, John has other plans. He will not sit in silence and let Sherlock go off to meet Moriarty again. The last time that happened he had been wired up as Sherlock came to the pool alone. A repeat would not be happening tonight, not if John Watson could help it. Before Sherlock can get three paragraphs into his current thought John intercedes with the words, “Surely you're not going.”  
  
“Why not?” Sherlock genuinely seems curious as to John's reasoning, while giving him a stare that says John best not state the obvious in reply.

The curt grate from those cheekbones causes John to sigh and look with resentful eyes, “It's Moriarty.” He states the obvious anyway, even if it does make Sherlock huff at him. “I know if he wanted you dead he would have done it already.” John continues quietly, maintaining the detective's attention if only just, “But that doesn't mean he isn't up to something.”

“Of course he is,” Sherlock fixes him with a pointed look, “This is the most efficient way to find out what.”

John leans forward in his seat, elbow resting on his knee. “That's the idiot's way.” Much as he adores the unique man, sometimes he just wants to shake him for not seeing something as painfully obvious as this.

“I never said it wasn't, I said effective.” Sherlock stiffly clarifies with a haughty air.

“You admit you're being an idiot?” John's eyes widen and for a moment the gravity of looming danger dissipates in favor of a brief humorous smile. He murmurs under his breath, “That's new.”  
  
“For God's sake, John.” Sherlock turns and fixes him with a distasteful stare.

After a brief moment of silence in the cab John shakes his head, “Going then?” No answer from Sherlock who wears a childish pout now. John takes that as confirmation. “Well, so am I.” He resigns himself to the best option, to look after the consulting detective. **  
  
 ****[Is John feeling something for Sherlock?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775294)**  
  
[Or John's just being a good friend?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775315)


	21. 137

 “I doubt you'll find anything blog-worthy,” Sherlock replies condescendingly. His antipathy for John's blog is already known and the man always has to have the last word.

Instead of the usual way Sherlock's comments roll off him something unsettles him about this one, just as Sherlock's very first comment about his blog had done. This time the reason behind it is different – because Sherlock just does not get it. “I'm going to look out for you.” John says none too gently.

“I don't need looking after.” The consulting detective gripes at him petulantly.

“You do,” John says with undoubted certainty. His voice becomes less brusque as John dials down his anger in favor of honest admission. “I'm glad to.” Adds the militant doctor, and he means it. Sherlock's caprices might rub John the wrong way at times but he takes it in stride because he knows Sherlock is a good man.  
  
“I'm not a child.” Snipes Sherlock. After an exaggerated sigh and the cold shoulder from Sherlock, John continues.

“No, but you don't think like everyone else.” John tries to point that fact out gently, even knowing the arrogant sod will probably take it as a compliment.

“Thank God for that.” Mutters the consulting detective true to form.  
  
“You need some attention.” John's phrasing it as carefully as he can – 'looking after' sounds too much like incapacitation. “From someone average – to notice the average things. So if you're going after him, I'm going with you.”  
  
“You sound worried.” Remarks Sherlock aloofly from his tight position beside John.

“I am! You charge in..” John stops himself from ranting. Though they may both like dangerous situations John does not barrel head first into them, as he believes Sherlock does. He sighs, “Sherlock, if anything happened to you I don't know what I'd do.”

“You'd move ahead.” His scientific voice putting it so succinctly, yet without emotion. To Sherlock it is a simple matter of reality, not an issue of the heart, and he approaches it that way.  
  
“No. There's never going to be an after you.” John replies and for the first time he realizes how true that is; This is not a segment of his life, their life together is his life now.

As the duo of 221b arrive home and look to the clock they find that it is already so late in the evening that not just John, but Sherlock, take to bed. Both men have a touch of difficulty getting to sleep in spite of their wearied bodies. Their minds swarming with thoughts from the day, but very few are about the recent case.  
  


******[Will John oversleep?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775309)**  
  
 **** **[Does Sherlock decide to go alone?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775339)**


	22. 333

“No one else would take you.” John replies back with a soft sigh, his wit swift even when he wanted to turn it off. He could almost feel the tiny smile residing on the detective's lips like one feels eyes on them when turned around.  
  
He sighs deeply and supposes the other man is right. The world may misinterpret, it may make their assumptions and extrapolations, but deep down the only two who really knew where John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Strange, how that was not only good enough for John, who slowly rose to his knees to depart for bed, but it calmed him. For without much said between them he still knew what Sherlock meant...  
  
Sherlock did not see him as a sidekick, but a friend, companion, and the only being he would share the intimacies of his mind with. John knew that, and so did Sherlock, so once again John decided to tell the world to sod off.  
  
 **[Continue onward..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775252)**


	23. 334

“Here?” John echoes the word questioningly. His sandy brow like a sideways crescent moon while he looked curiously at the other man, unable to help a flutter of hope forming in his chest.  
  
“Here.” Sherlock repeats definitively, giving him a somber stare that feels as if disclosing an intimacy. “The flat, cases, my personal thoughts.. You're the only one within every aspect of myself.” He fluffs the union jack pillow, lying down with his back to John. The man ready to fall into a brief repose, until John speaks.  
  
“Not every aspect, but most.” The man is amicable but a tad.. something that Sherlock finds difficulty placing. He stops and rolls over on the sofa, his skeletal feet pushing against the end, and looks to John with interest and a hunger for more data.  
  
Sherlock scrutinizes John while lying across from him; the dilation to his pupils, slightly rapid breathy breathing (likely a quicker pulse but that was an assumption, not deduction), eyes that do not meet Sherlock's cerulean stare, and a slight curve of his body to face away from Sherlock though the man's feet were pointed toward him.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asks to field some more data for a series of forming theories. Given how well he knows John he only has a couple ideas..  
  
“Nothing, it doesn't matter.” John says quickly, unwilling to rock to boat.  
  
Sherlock watches his eye lids droop a little as John refuses to say anything about his clearly weighty thoughts. “I can see it does.” The pale man remarks seriously, but does not sit up.  
  
Silence reigns over the flat for a minute or two. Then John finally admits, “I wish it wasn't all about transport with you.” He feels like his soft voice is grating against he harsh reality of whom he is sharing his thoughts with. John's spine feels like someone has thread a string through it and pulled taut, waiting for Sherlock's disapproval.

“Why, John?” Sherlock asks, surprisingly without an obvious expectation in his tone.  
  
John falters with his decision, mentally admonishing himself. “Like I said, doesn't matter.”

Considering the gravitas of the conversation topic they both waltz around gracefully, Sherlock elegantly rebuffs him, “I need my head clear for cases, and cannot be expected to keep up with that sort of thing.”

“I know..” John murmurs with regret, ”I just thought how it would be, if you could.” He thinks this is the end of that, feeling the chance slipping from his fingers.

“And how would it be, John?” Sherlock is taking his own chance, looking with narrowed yet hintingly affectionate eyes.  
  
 **[A few months later..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775433)**


	24. 328

“It's amazing, isn't it?” John says as they sit side by side in the aftermath of a short but poignant case. He exhales softly as he considers how human this woman is, a woman he has never met but admires. “She risked her marriage for her child.”

“Love is a messy emotion, John.” Sherlock does not sound in awe. In fact he has already moved to another website, checking up on the number of hits his 43 Types of Tobacco Ash has gotten.

“What would you have done? In the same situation as Mrs. Cantlemere?” John asked, curious as to how his detached friend would extrapolate that idea.  
  
“Being that I am not a mother it hardly applies..” Sherlock begins to reject John on the mere premise.  
  
John jumps up to argue out the principle, but Sherlock charges on like a verbal bull.  
  
“I would also never be married which disregards the need of this discussion...”  
  
“Really, Sherlock..” John wants to bop the man on the nose with his technical streak.  
  
“If I had,” He grudgingly relents with a stare that belittles the idea as well as the man who started this, “I would not have gotten caught as she did.” Sherlock remains confident in their hypothetical. “Though I would have found a far better way to resolve the situation so as not to lead to that in the first place.”

“Like just telling Mr. Cantlemere the truth?” John suggests, having thought of it earlier. Given their daughter's troubles he supposes that Mr. Cantlemere was hard on her.

“Precisely.” Sherlock shrugs at the simpler yet effective solution. “She did not need to give up romance for love if she had been honest.”  
  
“Sometimes love makes people do crazy things.. Have you ever done anything crazy for love?” John inquires, feeling in a talkative mood while they take their tea.

“Transport, John.” Reminds the detective as he swiftly sweeps his sexuality to the side – not claiming himself as anything but a nonparticipant.  
  
“Never, Sherlock?” John asks hesitantly.  
  
“Not never. It's a distraction and therefore inconsequential.” Sherlock has always considered his casework above and beyond every other aspect of his life.  
  
“So it's too much? Just a bit of romance on the side?” John digs in a little more as they know each other better now than they had the first time this topic came up. Time has passed and they trust each other explicitly.  
  
“It's a waste of resources and produces too many extraneous social problems.” This is not something he has really shared before, not even with Mycroft outside of the principle of it. Mycroft agreed with him, but John's frown suggests that he does not. To Sherlock there is no other solution to maximize his mind's efficiency. Using his brain well meant freeing it up as much as possible.

“What's my favorite kind of jam?” John asks quietly after a brief lapse.  
  
“Strawberry.” Sherlock says slowly, sighing and recognizing immediately what John was trying to do. “That is not a waste, John. I need you for cases.”  
  
John's chest warmed and so did well below there, though he tries to ignore it. This is not the first time the sandy haired doctor has been turned on by the consulting detective, but this time is not a fleeting burst of warmth or a twitch of his shaft. It stays with him and only gets stronger.  
  
He takes in a breath and holds it, deciding to go out on a limb because the most dangerous moments are also the ones he feels the most alive. “What if you didn't have to use anymore space on love – maybe you're part super computer - and could have it without compromising your integrity, then would you?”  
  
“Maybe.” Sherlock shrugs noncommittally, turning and looking curiously at John who has begun to turn a soft shade of petal pink.  
  
John leans in and gently smiled as Sherlock did not push him away. His lips met soft pink ones, feeling the brush of Sherlock's nose against his face. The other man did not kiss back much at first, seeming surprised. John has actually surprised Sherlock – that is a first for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy end, although it IS an early ending... hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	25. 138

The next morning John opens two glazed eyes and rises of his own volition. Then he realizes what he has done, how lazily he has awoke, and looks to the clock resting on his bedside table – 7:26. He has overslept.  
  
John grips the slim black box displaying the time in thick digital bars of light and looks but cannot see any indication whether it was tampered with or he merely slept right on through his usual alarm. In the back of his mind he has to wonder whether Sherlock came in and did it on purpose.  
  
When John comes down for breakfast he finds his best friend has already left, and looking at the clock he sees it is now quarter to eight.

Whatever has happened, John has slept through it.

In a flurry of activity John rushes back upstairs once certain his flatmate is nowhere to be found. He dresses as swiftly as he can, yanking his jumper so harshly that it tears open a gaping hole but he does not notice. Right now all John can think is that he has to find Sherlock Holmes, wherever he is.  
  


**[Follow John as he looks for Sherlock...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775412)**  
  
 **[Or see what Sherlock's gotten up to.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775339)**


	26. 132

As the duo of 221b arrive home and look to the clock they find that it is already so late in the evening that not just John, but Sherlock, takes to bed. Both men have a touch of difficulty getting to sleep in spite of their wearied bodies. Their minds swarming with thoughts from the day, but very few are about the recent case.

The next morning, when John comes down for breakfast he finds his best friend already taken to his work, tapping away at his laptop – John supposes Sherlock's own was too far out of his reach.

“So, have you figured out where we're going?” Asks John with a hint of curiosity. He saw little within the card, but then again, he knew Sherlock could make a proverbial land mass out of a grain of sand.  
  
“The Alice House, John.” Replies Sherlock, turning the card between his elegant index and middle finger while his other hand remains resting on the laptop's keys.  
  
“Bit obvious?” Remarks John as he heads into the kitchen with sluggish steps. A card with the mad hatter, and Moriarty means the Alice In Wonderland themed restaurant known as The Alice House?

“I think he did not want me to miss it.” Sherlock's nose dips back down and he is into prodding away at the keys while John goes about his morning habitude.  
  
  
 ******[Is there more to it than it seems?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775326)**

******[It is nearly seven and there is no time to consider, just go!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775320)  **


	27. Chase

 After taking a cab to West Hampstead Sherlock and John walk the short rest of the way. Neither says much to the other, as if they might upset the calm world they walk through on their way to whatever madness they are about to get themselves into. Or, perhaps, they are eager for the coming excitement that possible danger brings.  
  
Instead of arriving, John hears a familiar short screeching noise and grabs Sherlock, hauling him off to the side. His response automatic and well ingrained from training. His eyes widen in shock afterwards.

Gunfire? In West Hampstead?  
  
Sherlock looks confused more then anything else. He nods to John, who peeks over the side of the brickwork building they have elected to hide behind. A quick glance before another round clips the brickwork two feet above his head – a sniper.  
  
“I think we should run.” John murmurs, taking in a deep breath to calm himself. He looks to his best friend, who nods in swift agreement because he does not want to wait.

They exchange a look, a silent promise, and both pivot their body toward the street like two predators raising their skulking bodies. “Ready?” John mutters with a soft pant of his breath.  
 ****  
Sherlock and John run for all they are worth. They streak like bolts of light down the street, ignoring the various shops and fleeing or screaming bystanders.  
  
John is trying to ignore his physical weaknesses, wishing he had gone to a gym recently. He focuses on running forward, as does Sherlock. With the sniper(s?) suspected to be on a roof or tall location John fleetingly thinks a shot at them would be fairly useless, and hits the pavement harder.  
  
They turn once and the shots ring out on the new street, one falling precariously near Sherlock's foot.

The pair move away from the source of their discomfort, intending to double back via a different series of streets. For now, with their feet slapping the pavement, they just need to flee...  
  


******[John runs left, follow him..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775372) **

******[Follow Sherlock, who runs right...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775406) **

******[They stay together!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775463) **


	28. 140

John walks out of the kitchen, two mugs of tea in hand. He stops immediately, looking at nothing. Absolutely nothing sends a sudden fear in him.  
  
A minute ago Sherlock sat at his laptop, dressed but curled up and seemingly still in an early daze. Yet now his chair is empty and, after padding into the hall and checking, his shoes and coat are gone. A wave of concern hits him when John realizes that he has been purposefully left behind.

John Watson dresses as quickly as he can before checking Sherlock's history – directions to The Alice House in London. He writes down the address and takes the stairs as quickly as his leg allows, hailing a cab.

Minutes later John walks into the themed restaurant and is invited to take tea by a friendly waitress. His eyes roam the quaint, cheerful place, but there is no sign of Sherlock Holmes or Jim Moriarty.

* * *

  
While John had been busy hailing a cab to get to West Hampstead, Sherlock Holmes was walking along Baker Street. His true destination was far closer than John suspected – only blocks away. After two turns he found himself before an expansive building bearing rooftop foliage. The multitude of windows makes it appear more regal, but Sherlock ignored aesthetics.  
  
Sherlock enters the Sanderson Hotel – home of the Mad Hatter's Tea - and heads into a quiet, modern looking tea room, but does not find Moriarty. When he walks into a more garish looking purple covered bar that seems to scream at him with all its décor he spies Moriarty curled around a cocktail, smirking as he looks upon his fellow consultant.  
  
“So glad you could join me.” He says once Sherlock has come close enough. “I thought you were bored.” Jim remarks playfully with delight in his eyes. He is quite glad to see the detective there, not because he doubted the man's ability to work out such a simple clue, but because he thought Sherlock would not show. “I left that on a whim.”

Stiffly the detective sat beside him. Much as he knew physically he was safe, part of if could not him being disgruntled by the mere proximity. “It has been a bit dull, but I suppose London goes to pieces without you.” He can read through the tan, the change in his hair gel (foreign), and the wrong time on his watch – vacation.  
  
“Yet if you left who would notice?” Quips Jim in return, sounding more playful than nefarious even if the two often go hand in hand with him. “Besides John.” He writes the man off as average and barely worth a mention.  
  
“Nobody noticed you gone I assume.” Sherlock remarks curtly, with all the polite air of a politician.  
  
“You did.” Jim nearly purrs, setting his chin in hand while turning a feline like gaze onto the man beside him. “Awfully sweet.”  
  
“So you're checking up on me? Making sure London didn't get too strong in your absence?” Queries Sherlock while taking on a more studious frame of mind instead of merely letting his raised hackles dictate him.  
  
Jim's smile is scandalous as he pivots more towards the paler man, “I wanted to see just how dull your mind has become, because we're just alike, you and I.” A bit like looking into a mirror, though more like a fun house one.  
  
Sherlock draws himself up and feels solemn resistance within his normally quiet body. “I may reside in your field, but I am leagues away from what you are.”  
  
“Temper..” Jim chides teasingly, looking to him with a forced droll expression. “We both know you could never be as much as I am.”

Feeling irate the longer their meeting continues Sherlock digs into the crux of the matter. “Is banter the only reason for this summons?”  
  
“Do I _need_ a reason?” The villain sounds surprised, his emotion coming off as superfluous as a bad actor's.  
  
  
 **[Has Sherlock had enough?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775335)**  
  
 **[Or does Jim turn on his charm?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775328)**


	29. 146

“We are quite alike though,” Jim drops the fake over exaggeration and comes across as more sincere. At least as sincere as a liar can appear.

Jim turns and stares with importuning eyes, so dark and deep that Sherlock now realizes he has never been so close to Jim. As nondescript as the man may make himself out to be, he is quite appealing.  
  
“Nobody will ever understand you like I do.” Jim continues when Sherlock says nothing and moves to stand. “Not even John.”

He has stopped the detective in his tracks. Sherlock wants to hear the end because sometimes his thoughts also echo that idea. A dark part of his mind has cropped up time and time again, reminding him that John does not always understand.

“The endless churning..” Jim begins with a soft groan of anguish, “All that clatter, all that empty time.. just bouncing around until you feel like you'll implode.”

Sherlock's eyes narrow, not at the man, but his words because they are indeed the harsh way he experiences the world. So overstimulated in his mental faculties that sometimes it feels like screaming in his mind as his thoughts shove each other for dominance. He has suspected similarities, but he did not know how deep they went.  
  
“I can show you how to make it stop.” Jim begins with a sparkle in his eyes that Sherlock cannot place at first, because seeing arousal on Moriarty is like seeing speed in a tortoise – at least to Sherlock, who cannot see him as anything more than a villain.

“Not drugs.” Jim adds at the dubious look Sherlock gives him.  
  
 **  
 ****[Will Sherlock agree?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777163)**  
  
 **[Does Sherlock leave instead?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775335)**  


	30. 255

 The prospect of a case from Jim is one thing – though clearly an insane genius to his eyes he is a fitting opponent, and Sherlock would immediately engage in a barrage of wits. That does not mean he wants Moriarty's actual company. He is only interested if they are to have a skirmish, but Moriarty's offer seems informal and much less threatening.  
  
“If that's all.” Sherlock sounds finished. His eyes narrow slightly and he turns without offering any real farewell between them. None is necessary.

Jim pouts at his retreating figure and narrows his own dark gaze much more, collected stare becoming a tempest of loathing for the man who has now rejected him. 

Sherlock walks away, thinking this tryst is not worth his interest, but he has no idea how dangerous he has just made Jim Moriarty. A man of that caliber, with a bruised ego, will set his sights on his object of discontent, and heaven help any who get in his way...  
  
 **[Time skip..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777253)**


	31. 150

 The next morning Sherlock Holmes rises before light has fallen. He had a rough night, with sleep fleeting and intermittent, so there was not much motivation required to get him to drag himself from bed. Not when he spent the night thinking of the task at hand.  
  
Moriarty is unpredictable, dangerous, and he has threatened John before just to get to Sherlock... He cannot forget the night at the pool. As John showed him the vest he wore Sherlock's heart plummeted after he already felt it could go no further, from thinking John was the fiendish mastermind, if only for a split second. The way the villain engages in games with people as pawns only makes Sherlock want to leave John behind.

As much as he adores John coming along to investigations, crime scenes, labs, you name it, there are times when Sherlock feels he must walk the path alone. Much of the time he feels this generally – it is not only helpful during cases, but generally easier to walk through life with no ties, no one to rely on him – but rarely does it apply to John...  
  
When Sherlock does apply this modicum of attitude to John, he always does it thinking he is acting for John's own safety.  
  
 **[Sherlock goes it alone...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777253)**


	32. 166

Realizing that Sherlock would not get the door John instead backtracks and opens it to reveal Mrs. Hudson standing on the other side. She is armed with a plate of cookies and a motherly smile. ** _  
_**

“I baked up a little something.” Mrs. Hudson walked in as John stepped back politely.  
  
“None for me, thanks.” Sherlock remarks with the kindest turn down he has given her this week. She does not stop smiling as the plate is turned to John.

“I'll take his,” John says, but after a bit of encouragement he takes not just one but two extra. He stacks the three cookies and turns back to finish making tea when he hears an exclamation of intrigue and hopeful delight from Sherlock. The same noise made when he thinks he has found a case.  
  
“I'll leave you boys to it.” Mrs. Hudson remarks after both she and John turn to Sherlock, who is too engrossed to notice her exit.  
  
“Thanks..” John repeats with a smile, turning to his best friend with interest. “Got something, Sherlock?” **  
  
 ******[Of course he has – he's Sherlock Holmes!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775205) 


	33. 703

“How can I not?” Sherlock replies with his enigmatic, energetic air that John has become accustomed to seeing during cases. He rises from his chair with the purposeful gait only the promise of intrigue could bring. “I've already emailed the curator, John.”  
  
“What about the police and maybe the museum's board?” John asks as he watches Sherlock click send, the email finished.  
  
“Useless. Curators are the one to talk to when you want to get something done in a museum. We need real people, John.” Sherlock rises from his chair, feeling thrilled at the prospect of a new case. “With everyone already believing the museum to be haunted it makes itself a perfect target to thieves.” Haunted is a convenience. Everyone is ignorant enough to have their unscientific preconceived notions satiate their concerns, and Sherlock feels it his responsibility to show them the truth.

He has already become excited with the prospect of a new case and left the room to get dressed, calling after to John, “We're leaving in ten minutes!”  
  
Many people may have been irate at constantly having their days turned right side up but John always took to it. He found it nearly impossible, unless in the midst of something, to not get taken in by Sherlock's whirlwind enthusiasm. After all, cases seem to be the only thing he does show enthusiasm for.  
  
John rose to his feet, intent on changing his clothes before they left. He has learned by now that with Sherlock you have to be ready for anything...

* * *

  
Sherlock and John move swiftly up the half dozen small steps, heading inside the museum. The two have enough credentials built up with the police force in the past that they get beyond the cautionary tape out front.  
  
As soon as they walk in the door a thin man in his mid-forties approaches them, angrily grumbling once they have gotten inside. He is the curator, and he has not gotten Sherlock's email. The verbose man is irate instead of excited at the prospect of the sleuth's investigative help. Sherlock breezes past him, ignoring the thin man with wiry spectacles who shows no sign of being useful as hoped.  
  
Sherlock moves like a graceful figure stalking past, going into the building until he comes to the hall featuring the stolen badge. His neck begins to crane back to take in the full expanse of their vaulted ceiling, looking at the skylight curiously. Immediately he walks a complete 360 degree turn around the ornate pedestal that now stands barren. His curious hawk eyes roam the shorter one beside it, too.  
  
The consulting detective wanders all over the room, seeming to have an aimless path yet bobbing and weaving as he goes. John recalls similar motions during one of their first cases, involving a banker uni friend of Sherlock's. The man is up to something and only needs time to see every angle. When others stare at Sherlock, John just nods and smiles politely to them.  
  
During one of his closer passes to the pedestal Sherlock stops and leans in. He sniffs deeply, the sound catching John's attention. A puzzled expression comes to his face, yet within his eyes is a light of joy at finding himself stumped. “Meat.. Bloody and raw.”  
  
“Those cameras,” Sherlock continues as he wields back as if taking a sudden turn, pointing at one of the surveillance cameras. He lowers his voice but John is close enough to hear him. “Only capture images not audio.”  
  
Though intrigued by his friend's strange building of facts John does not interrupt the flow of thought while it still pours out. He waits until Sherlock is quiet, seeming finished, then says, “Should we interview the night watch?”  
  
The detective looks sharply at the curator, “I'd like to see footage of last night, from that one.” He points at a specific camera tucked into a corner that has a clear shot of the pedestal without a relic.  
  
 ******[Did Sherlock know the solution from the start?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775347)**  
 **  
 ****[Does the footage reveal the perpetrator to be someone you don't suspect?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775349)**  
 **  
 ********[Has Jim been a naughty boy and replaced that boring old museum footage?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775356)**  



	34. 709

The group files through the museum – Sherlock, John, some police including Lestrade, the curator, and the night watchman, who swears he saw nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
The curator bends over the desk and types into the computer to bring up the footage. He frowns and types again, shaking his head after a moment. “I'm sorry. I can't get the footage to come up.. but there's nothing to see on it.”  
  
Sherlock has noticed the barely visible sheen of sweat accruing on his forehead. He sweeps around behind the man and nods, “It's password protected.”  
  
“I can't remember.” He chuckles and murmurs on about nerves, but John's narrow eyes are watching the way Sherlock studies him. “But the power went off so it doesn't matter, does it?”  
  
“Shall I tell them or will you?” Asks Sherlock with a sharp, smug look to the thin man with peculiarly fitting spectacles who gapes as if discombobulated.

“You're not the curator.” Sherlock declares and the man goes a ghastly shade of white. “You're the thief masquerading as the curator. You have been jumpy since we arrived, because we are a threat. The only people here who know you found you on the scene and accepted your story.” Sherlock slowly sweeps his hand in a gesture to the machine in front of him, “But most telltale of all, you cannot log in to the security network. A blatant flub.”  
  
The man begins to run but two officers throw their arms around him and it's over for him. Sherlock walks over and removes his glasses, looking at them and finding the lenses are only glass – no prescription. “These are stereotypically classic for the image of a curator, but totally unfit for actual use by one. Curators like two things – history and efficiency, of which these glasses have neither.” He folds the spectacles and hands them to one of the officers.  
  
“And the meat smell?” Asks John perplexedly, giving him a dubious but impressed look.  
  
“Addendum to their plot used to mask the scent of the badge for the bloodhounds. Meat will distract dogs, and they will not be able to track the pilgrim's badge if they cannot know its smell to begin with... It's right here in the museum, just as the thief is.” Sherlock declares and the thief turns a pasty pallid shade and bursts out with offers to tell where the badge is in exchange for leniency. Sherlock of course offers to tell them where it is, already knowing.  
  
“You are remarkable.” John mutters, shaking his head at Sherlock as they finish up another day with one more fascinating feat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending, but it is an early ending – hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	35. 710

The curator pushes up the bridge on his glasses as he bends over the computer screen, bringing up the video of last night and playing it at an increased speed. The pilgrim's badge sits on the pedestal like a gleaming piece of silver as the shadows move quickly around it. Twice the guard is visible on his rounds, walking the edge of the room, but nothing else until the feed turns to static, then when it comes on there is nothing.  
  
“We had a power outage at that point.” Explains the thin man, leaning over the keyboard with a heavy frown.  
  
“And then it's gone? How convenient.” Sherlock comments in a dry, doubting voice. “Bring up all footage for today.” Pointing at the screen he says, “In this hall, from this camera.” He moves back in and remains sitting down at the computer chair.  
  
The older man looks to the police, then to John, as if silently questioning who this man thinks he is to boss them all around, but he obeys and pulls up the necessary files on the screen. Sherlock sits there and runs through them while John goes and fetches two cups of tea from the nearest cafe.  
  
“Here.” Sherlock's pupils dilate as he watches a rather innocuous gesture in which a visitor almost bumps into the pedestal. The thing the detective notices is the gleam that remains for a few minutes, as whatever liquid it is dries. His eyes scrunch up and he replays that scene.  
  
“Sherlock, it's not just a guy bumping into something, being a careless tourist?” John cannot help that slight bit of doubt but he would be remiss to ignore any of his flatmate's theories, no matter how fanciful the man's mind he is normally spot on in criminal matters.  
  
“And getting the exhibit wet? No John, that was calculated.” Sherlock insists. He gets up and walks back into the hall, scrutinizing it closely. His eyes close as he adds up the facts – skylights that have not activated, nor any doors, alarms, or heat sensors on the windows. For a moment everything shut off, and in that time the artifact is removed. He saw a tourist splash something on it earlier that day, smelled meat on the pedestal, and saw scratch marks on that same pedestal.  
  
“Something..” Sherlock begins to explain aloud as he moves toward the air grate, looking it over closely. He touches it and it swings – only one screw is in, so it moves at the slightest touch. Sherlock cries out in elation at his find.  
  
“What?” Says a junior officer. “That's barely a foot – not even a child can squeeze through that.”  
  
“Not a child, but an animal.” Sherlock remarks with a shake of his head. “This is truly brilliant.” He chuckles out loud and swings the grating to the side, looking around inside. When he leans back out of the ventilation shaft he is holding some slender hairs between his fingers. “We can track our thief.”

“Who's our thief?” Asks Lestrade from behind him.  
  
“A ferret.” Sherlock says, only to have mixed gasps, befuddled faces, and a little undignified laughter. “The badge was scented beforehand, and scented for a carnivore.”  
  
John remembers the lingering odor and supposes, as odd as it sounds, it is a fitting explanation of the facts so far.  
  
“There are scratch marks along the pedestals, suggesting an animal has been on it.. Not a climber by the depth of the claw marks. Such marks also tell you the reach of the animal's paw in a single movement so you have a rough guess of its size. With that, coupled with the coarse hair fibers I found in the vent, I can safely conclude we are looking for a ferret - nature's thief. A pilgrim's badge is small and, as this one is a simple aluminum, lightweight enough to be carried by a ferret.” Sherlock concludes the long winded explanation yet they still stare in astonishment at his conclusion. He looks at their doubt and only sees a challenge, “I found a dirt sample and intend to analyze it, then I will have your thief, and its owner, found.”

* * *

 

  
One hour later.  
  
“West Hampstead, John.” Sherlock declares after analyzing the soil sample and zeroing in on a single seven block radius. All they needed to do was start poking around in backyards to find a hutch, check the ferrets, and they would have their ferret fancier thief.  
  
 **[Take a cab to West Hampstead..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775320)**


	36. 715

They enter the cubicle style, cubbyhole of a room, to watch the security tapes of the night before. The group gathered around the computer monitor, though most held back to give Sherlock space since he is known as a prickly figure.  
  
The curator brings up last night's video and accelerates the speed. At first it is just the hall, with a pedestal holding the sleek pilgrim's badge but abruptly it changes and the eyes of John, Lestrade and Sherlock pop at seeing Moriarty's visage. Catching the switch, the curator rewinds, and they all stand there watching the reverse-motion villain look smug against a rather cheerful background.  
  
“Stop it here.” Sherlock tries to get it precise, flustering the older man, but he still hits the button.  
  
“-id you think I'd forgotten you, Sherlock Holmes?” Says the familiar face smiling too pleasantly into the camera's close up. He shakes his head no, looking malevolent and playful in unison. The larger than life face of Moriarty there for all to see.  
  
“You're a mad man, Sherlock.” Says Moriarty into the camera, a faux visage of benevolence as he smiles. “But I'll tell you a secret..” He whispers with great showmanship. “... all the best people are.”  
  
Sherlock remains stoic faced, and John glances at him briefly to check that the Irishman's words do not affect him. There is a frightening blaze to the man's eyes, like Moriarty has some festering psychosis that boils when he thinks of Sherlock.

“Did you like my little puzzle with the artifact?” Moriarty bats his lashes at the screen, playfully looking forward. “Did it give you a laugh? I'm sure the Yard was useless and called you in before this was even found..” Jim's voice dropped dangerously but it was still loud enough to be audible, “..we all know people who don't think, shouldn't talk.”  
  
Moriarty's final message on the supposed security tape was him looking a bit unhinged at the camera, whispering, “Tea time, Sherlock?”

* * *

 

  
After watching the tape they went to the lab and began to perform an analysis. Sherlock had taken a sample – a swab to the pedestal – before they left in order to study it. What he found surprised him. 

John noticed the purse to his lips and the swing of Sherlock's brows. He may not be a mental dynamo but he has lived with the man long enough. “Sherlock, what is it?”

Sherlock pulls away from the microscope where he had been tinkering with the knob for magnification. “I found an AK1 enzyme present on the pedestal.”

“And that is kind of familiar but I can't recall..” John begins to fluster a little, sighing and hoping this is not something he missed in medical school. It certainly sounds familiar to something he studied but he could not put his finger on it.  
  
“Nor should you.” Sherlock replies undaunted. “It's found in animal blood, John. This, specifically, is rabbit.” Sherlock puts his palms on the countertop and leans forward, letting his sciatic nerve rest.  
  
“Rabbit?” John echoes him, then he recalls the raw scent in the museum. The doctor continues on, more confused the longer he speaks, “They dropped rabbit's blood, or killed one, while stealing?”  
  
“I think it was purposeful.” Sherlock says, sighing. _He is blatantly inviting me to tea.._  
  
Now all the consulting detective needs to decide is what to do. He thinks for a little while, turning quiet, and when they leave the lab and return to 221b Sherlock is still near-silent.  
  
 **[Continue, return to 221b...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775326)**


	37. 701

“No, John.” Sherlock replies succinctly, not lifting his eyes off the screen. He types away with purpose, not concerned with his friend who now stares with a touch of confusion.  
  
“I thought you were interested?” Asks John, for he had certainly felt intrigue from his friend while Sherlock conveyed the facts to him. Surely there was a reason?  
  
“I am, but there is no case to take.” Sherlock's enigmatic air only deepens with that response, as does John's perplexity.  
  
“How could there- ah..” John has an epiphany of Sherlock's cool air and smiles at his friend. “You've already solved it.” He nods at the idea, and though not quite the deducer that Holmes is, he does mentally congratulate himself for a brief moment.  
  
An infinitesimal quirking of the corners of his lips convey a smile of a victory, and John knows he has hit the nail on the head. “What was it?” He asks with intrigue. “Not a ghost obviously..”  
  
“No, that was a simple diversionary tactic.” Sherlock nods, glad that John has known more than the sensationalist journalists, but then again, John always was a cut above the rest. Still from the average cloth, but surely a better cut. “This is far too garish in the details, and while historically relevant the item itself has thousands of pounds value on the black market. Hollywood copycat thieves and amateurs.”  
  
“Successful amateurs.” John points out quietly, earning a spark of amusement in Sherlock's eyes for a moment.  
  
“For now, but I have a feeling that this artifact will be found before long.” The consulting detective stops typing and stretches his violinist's fingers. “The power was cut, likely from a circuit breaker on the roof, and a thief lowered themselves down. You can see in the photo of the empty pedestal where the badge was that a skylight is right above it.”  
  
“That is like something out of a movie.” John murmurs agreeably, finding it simple once explained. The devil is always in the details. “So are you going to share your theory.”

“Amateurs, John.” Sherlock replies crisply, letting his eyes rest on his friend for a moment. “I've already sent the museum and Scotland Yard emails with the information and a link to what I think may be the stolen pilgrim's badge – for sale on Ebay at £5,000.”

John begins to laugh – amateurs indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending, but it is an early ending – hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	38. 474

In their hurry to escape the two men fall out of their usual sync. Neither had said anything about which way to go, or what route. When faced with a dead end they barrel forward without pause to check with each other.

So John flees to the left.  
  
Sherlock runs right.  
  
Suddenly the two men are separated, and everything changes when a figure reaches out from the shadows and grabs hold of John by the shoulder. The doctor's speed only works against him when the new touch reroutes him and he ends up smacking into a wall, making it far simple to subdue him and wrangle John into an idling car a few feet away.

* * *

 

  
"Now, Doctor Watson, still so quiet?" The soft Irish accent curls around the final word's first syllable. Moriarty stands beside the militant doctor, dressed in a fine Saville Row suit with diamond cufflinks. He looks at home there, standing beside the mini-bar of the posh hotel suit with a tiny bottle in one hand and a riding crop in the other.  
  
Jim has the tiniest smirk on his face, as if trying to bottle his emotion yet, in spite of all his efforts, it overflows. The villain walks slowly around John, who kneels on the floor with a haggard expression.

Without warning Jim brings the tip of a riding crop down on John's back, causing his body to shudder. His teeth clench down a cry of pain. Just like all the times before, which mark his back in large red welts ripped open and bleeding down into the back of his slacks.  
  
Despite his herculean efforts to remain silent John's eyes have betrayed him by misting up and a groan stalls within his throat.  
  
  
 ****   **[Will John hold out?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775383)  
  
 **[ Does John give in?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775378)  
  
**** ****  [ **Is someone else there with them?**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775400)


	39. 440

John takes in a shuddering breath, now finding himself panting. His breath heaves as if expelling its pain by regurgitating it out with each exhale. The brown head dips down as exhaustion tries to wheedle its way in to his already overcome body, but John refuses to let it make a home within him.

"We can continue this all day.. all night..." Jim murmurs slowly, voice measured.

The militant doctor groans softly, trying to keep his volume down. He hates the idea that he might be giving Jim satisfaction. With a deep inhale he lifts his head, tension in his back like a drawn string kept taut.  
  
“N-no.” The one word took such effort, but John reflects on Sherlock and refuses to give in. No matter what Moriarty wants, or threatens, he wants to keep Sherlock safe. Another crack of the riding crop across his back made that shivering devotion wane a little more.  
  
Biting his lower lip a sharp tang hits him as he accidentally nips through his own lip from the pain. John hisses and holds in a whimper of agony.  
  
“Doctor Watson..” Moriarty's voice is so fluid he almost sounds like a black crested waterfall. The slight touch of the riding crop's tip upon John's shoulders makes him jump, though Jim only drags it along the edge of his body. “Where.. is Sherlock Holmes?” He asks again, slowly enunciating each word. “Hm?”  
  
“Where..” Jim asks again, moving around John and letting the leather tip slide off he. “Is...” He smirked, lifting the riding crop up, “Sherlock?” With the question fallen from his lips, down came the snapping weapon, making John shudder and cry out, “A-ah!”  
  
Tears finally fall, unable to be held back as his tortured body is relentlessly thrashed again. Jim does not mind going back over wounds, bring a bitter sting to what already hurts so frightfully much. With a tremble John falls forward, putting his hands on the floor.

“A-alright...” He chokes on the whispered word, feeling so much worse for agreeing, but he cannot continue. John's throbbing body begs and he has no choice but to acquiesce.  
  
  
 ******[Does Jim not like that John gave up?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775381)**

******[Is there still any hope left for John?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775388) **


	40. 409

“You're useless, you know..” Jim announces abruptly, his voice soft and silken. It rubs John the wrong way. He does not know how, but Jim has a voice that feels like getting out of a bath and rubbing down with crushed velvet.  
  
John says nothing, not wanting to goad him when the man is obviously trying to make him speak. He girds himself, trying to focus on all the other difficult things he has made it through. If war cannot beat him, then neither will Jim, he tells himself.  
  
“You're..” Jim continues, kneeling down and looking at the man's worn expression. “...a sidekick, Doctor Watson. Just an addition he could easily snip away.”  
  
John wishes he could punch the smug grin off Moriarty's face, instead he lifts his head and glares. He feels the movement as every muscle in his back screams, but it is worth seeing that flicker of displeasure as he shows Moriarty his unwillingness.  
  
“The worst part is that you're ordinary. You're useless.” It was a crime having John share such intimacy with a being like Sherlock Holmes. Their relationship looked to Jim like roses in a warped mottled brown vase with a chipped rim.  
  
“The sooner Sherlock realizes, the better.” Jim has wanted to track down the detective who slipped through his recent efforts, but now with John in front of him he can only grow angrier that this average individual is prized by the great boffin detective.  
  
Jim reaches into his pocket, pulling out one his favorite semiautomatic. He always kept it near in situations like this (though he preferred snipers it was unfeasible to have them there). The chrome finish on the weapon gleamed as Moriarty slowly stood back up.

He looked down at the doctor, who stared patiently back. All Moriarty could think of was John's normality, and how much more of a loose canon Sherlock was before they met. The anger mounts within him, and perhaps a bit of jealousy. Without thinking any further Jim aims at John's forehead and fires.  
  
“Let's see what the great Sherlock Holmes makes of this.” Jim mutters to the blood-splattered corpse now lying on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you hit a sad ending – hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	41. 430

As his body quivered John steeled his mind further. His nobility, coupled with his friendship with Sherlock, silence his tongue. The groan he has bitten back stayed, a yelp getting caught behind it, as Jim lowers the riding crop onto his mid-back once more.  
  
When the tip made contact John arched up and made a strangled sound of pain in his throat. The small leather strap at the end came away bloody, and yet he stayed silent.  
  
Jim Moriarty walks around to John's front, though with his down turned head the detective's blogger only knows this before he hears the voice because he can shined black Dolce & Gabanna shoes are now in his line of vision. “I'd really love to know where Sherlock is..”  
  
John shakes his head no slightly, but with all attention on him there is no chance of missing the near incomprehensibly small gesture. Besides, Jim knows how poorly he is and does not expect any aggrandized responses from the bloodied, worn out man.  
  
No matter what Moriarty wants, or threatens, he wants to keep Sherlock safe. He needs to, no matter the cost.  
  
“Well then..” Jim replies with an atrociously pleasant voice, slowly raising his hand holding a weapon that made a mockery of the detective he sought.  
  
 **[Is John's nobility intriguing to Jim?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775391)  
  
 **[Stayin' Alive...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775400)**  
  
 ******   **[Does Sherlock burst in and save John?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775385)**


	42. 471

The tip of the riding crop falters as a sound comes from the hall. John's heart seizes up in his chest and he cannot help but hope. The man manages a smile as a familiar nightshade headed figure storms in, so relieved to see him.

Sherlock thrashes Moriarty even though Lestrade tries to stop him. The madman is grinning wildly, and goes along willingly. It sends a shiver through the spine of all the officers watching as the villainous figure that has be spoken of so much now saunters into custody as if he planned it.

Once the trial gets through it is, obviously, planned from the start. In spite of John's testimony, labeling his kidnapper as Jim, and the judge recommending a sentence of guilty, the jury still yields a not guilty verdict. Moriarty walks free.  
  
Since he walks free for his crimes John starts to forget about the torrid affair, at least until a case comes up with a familiar sinister flare..  
  
And the next thing Sherlock knows he is going up to the roof of St. Bart's...  
  
 **[ Follow Sherlock.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777253)**


	43. 481

The tiny rivulets of blood on John's back take a long time to ebb downward because the weapon Jim uses takes off flesh so slowly. Surprisingly little is spilled to inflict the amount of pain he achieves. John has been shot before, and yet he finds himself squirming and holding back tears from the riding crop's bite.  
  
Suddenly one of Jim's inferiors enters, at least that is what John assumes the man is. Some sinewy blond with broad shoulders, who speaks hurriedly, and John is too glad for a break from the torment to bother listening. After a moment Jim turns and gives John a whap across the face, nearly hitting his eye and sending the man's head jerking backward.  
  
Jim Moriarty snickered with a gleam in his eyes, letting the weapon twirl like a baton. “Bye, Johnny-boy.” Says Moriarty with an over the top air of pleasantry he winks before turning on his heel, leaving the room.

A minute or two later the door bursts open and in charges Sherlock, whose eyes immediately set on John's broken figure upon the floor. He kneels and grabs the man, holding in a sigh of disgust at the man's marred flesh.

Now Sherlock loathes Moriarty, who has gone from viable enemy to a crude hijacker in his eyes. This time the man has made their game personal.

**[Months later..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775433)**


	44. 435

A little more torment and no further answers.  
  
Jim Moriarty has to admit he is impressed with John's level of devotion. “Good.. very good,” He compliments in a soft murmur while striding around the fractionally shorter man. Earlier the blogger tried to trip him, but after a belt to the small of his back he stopped messing about.  
  
“I woke up with a peculiar feeling today,” Jim says as he looks down at the ragged, red streaked form. “It's one of those days, isn't it?” He muses out loud, but John is busy clenching his jaw in pain.  
  
That is when Jim Moriarty decided he would take John Watson – take him, trap him, and make the devoted little thing into his new right hand man. John can wield a gun and Jim can mold minds. Together Moriarty thinks they will form a new wondrous pair that will rival the suitability of Sherlock and John.

All he needs is time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	45. 498

Suddenly they are interrupted by a familiar flare up of disco music. Jim makes a soft noise of exasperation. He pulls out his phone as it croons Stayin' Alive and eyes the caller ID. Then Jim taps John gently on the top of the head with the crop's leather tip before walking away.

John wishes he could thank whomever dialed the psychopath in person.

All this time a tall figure has been watching from across the room. Sebastian is the only other figure in the room. He stands there, ready, his loose casual jacket thrown over a nearby chair to expose his shoulder holsters should he need to use them.

"Tell him where Sherlock is and we can all go home." Mutters the blond while he reaches into his back pocket to pull out his smokes. Sebastian taps the cigarette against the outside of the box, watching John.

He has to give this doctor credit, though.. Moriarty can be merciless when he drops the flittery puppeteer attitude. Sebastian eyes the dark lacerations on John's back, knowing Jim never lets a man die before getting what he wants.

This is minor play for Jim of course. It is hardly lethal, but Sebastian has felt the sting of that riding crop after Jim stole it from the morgue where Sherlock left it. It is a painful focused blow that lingers.

Yet John has not broken yet. For all his war history John seems like a soft individual. A malleable type, with too much kindness - always a weakness. The man chases around after Sherlock like a hopeless puppy, at least that is Sebastian's view.

The glazed teary eyes are hard against him as Sebastian moves into John's line of sight from across the room. "I know what it is to be loyal to a great man." He remarks before taking a long drag.

"Moriarty.. isn't a great man." John mutters heavily with malicious denial. No matter what anyone says about similarities between Sherlock and Moriarty he just cannot see them.  
  
 ****   **[Do they keep talking?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775402)  
  
** ****   [**Does Sherlock burst in to save John?**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775388)


	46. 499

“He's as smart and misunderstood as your boss. Probably more so.” Continues the sinewy figure against the wall. The odorous tobacco scent begins to fill the room.  
  
Without Jim there to bring down his wrath the brown haired man may catch his breath. “Sherlock's not my boss..” John counters, voice still soft from pain and slightly panted.  
  
“You're not a friend to him, you're a tool to be used.” Sebastian rolls the filtered end of the cigarette between his fingers, “May as well accept it.”  
  
Stronger conviction now as their repartee took off. “We're nothing alike, and neither are they.” He could not see how the other man viewed Sherlock and his relationship that way, but he could tell the man was drawing parallels.

“He said you were loyal, but I never thought this much..” Murmurs the other man, words half mumbled around the cancer stick in his mouth. 

“Must not see that much..” John retorts with a greater sullenness than usual, though few could blame him as the griping mostly came from the pain of bloody welts.

“No, I'm loyal to James Moriarty.” Sebastian plucks the cigarette from his lips and carelessly taps the ash onto the floor. “He's a bloody misunderstood genius, a right wanker sometimes, but he always delivers.”  
  
“And days are never dull?” John muttered in morbid humor, gritting his teeth at a surge of stinging.  
  
A low chuckle rumbled in the other man, who did see many similarities between John Watson and himself. He found himself staring at the despondent figure that still retained a stuck-in-it attitude. Even if he could be a bit too middle of the road for Sebastian, the man still admired John's moral fiber.  
  
“Come on.” Sebastian says after giving the idea formulating in his mind some time to develop. He knows what to say to Jim, and as he looks upon John he finds himself knowing exactly what it is he wants to do.

This time nobody orders him, Moran acts of his own volition. He takes hold of John and heaves the man to his feet, letting the perplexed captive lean on him. Sebastian slowly guides him down the hall, not knowing if John will want to see him again after this... but he hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending!
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	47. 476

In their hurry to escape the two men fall out of their usual sync.  
  
Neither had said anything about which way to go, or what route, so when faced with a dead end they barrel forward without pause to check with each other.

So John runs left, and Sherlock runs right.  
  
Suddenly the two men are separated, and everything changes as Sherlock comes face to face with a muscular blond with a glare to rival Medusa's. Instead of skittering to a stop Sherlock ploughs ahead to use the momentum he has..  
  
  
 ******[Does Sherlock fight Moran to a quick finish?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775409) **  
**  
****[Is Sherlock kidnapped on Moriarty's orders?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775423)  **


	48. 201

He hits the man with freight train force, and though the recoil hits him right in the gut Sherlock pushes through it with those long classical digits curling into a fist and nailing Sebastian Moran in the stomach.

Moran holds up a hand as he stumbles back. “I have a message from Moriarty.” Groans the slightly taller man, rubbing his stomach as he tries to straighten up.  
  
Sherlock keeps his fists raised but waits expectantly. His eyes sharp and doubtful, taking but a split second to check that no one was sneaking up behind him.  
  
“Come to the rooftop, or John Watson dies.” Sebastian delivers the message with a down turned stare, the ache filling his body from Sherlock ploughing into him.

The detective feels it too, and knows bruising is in his future, but right now all he can think of is John and Moriarty's plans... When he thinks of the pool and considers what Jim Moriarty has already proven himself capable of, and more than willing to do, he knows he must go..  
  
 ******[Follow Sherlock to the rooftop!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777253)**  
 **  
 ****[Something is up with Sebastian. Let's follow him... ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775416) **


	49. 486

 John knows he has lost track of Sherlock and he tries to keep a level head – the police are called to help first. Lestrade's tracking skills are particularly helpful. It takes less than an hour for them to use CCTV footage, and hotel check in information, to find where Moriarty has taken him.

When Lestrade tries to tell John to stay behind the man casts such a smoldering glare that Greg ceases all mention of standard procedure. Though he does insist that John not have his gun, and remain behind Greg at all times.

The two, with other uniformed officers in tow, walk swiftly down the hotel hall. Their feet giving off the lightest padding sound against the plush carpet runner. Lestrade breaks down the door and John spies Sherlock's stretched out form.  
  
Moriarty had tied Sherlock's hands together to the headboard and fled when he heard them coming. Thus when John busts down the door with Lestrade he is greeted to a dour faced detective sitting up and trying to work his wrists free, slightly bloodying them in the process...  
  
Once again the villain has escaped without leaving hide nor hair behind. Yet as John's heart thumps wildly in his chest all he can feel is gratitude that Sherlock is safe...  
  
  
 **[Romantic ending.. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775433)**  
  
**[True to ACD form platonic ending..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775853)**


	50. 209

After delivering the foreboding message Sebastian Moran makes his escape. With Sherlock busy, heading to the rooftop, he does not try and stop Moran from fleeing. The escape is clean, unlike his rough chiseled face. A quick look in the mirror once back in his car shows the start of a painful bruise.  
  
Sebastian glances at it, then ignores it. Worse things could be yet to come. Or better..  
  
He almost drops the transmission in his eagerness to pull out onto the road, gunning it almost immediately. Sebastian is a horror to other drivers and a menace to pedestrians, squealing down streets and slamming on his brakes.

He makes a beeline for 221b.  
  
The fair figure stalks inside, finding John looking flabbergasted at Mrs. Hudson – who stands there healthy and not-shot, as was reported to him. When the brunette turns back to Sebastian he ogles the new figure, mouth dropping open to ask why a stranger was in his house.  
  
Seb thrust a gun in his face, causing a soft cry from Mrs. Hudson. “This is for your own good. Come on.”

“Don't point that thing at me when I don't even know who you are.” John says irately, putting up both hands in a surrendering gesture since Mrs. Hudson is at his elbow.  
  
“Moriarty is trying to kill you, I can take you somewhere safe.” Sebastian says hurriedly, glaring at the man. He then looks to the frightened older woman, “Get out of here.” After she hesitates, fearing for John, he waves the gun at her, “Go on!”  
  
Mrs. Hudson flees down to her flat, and likely going to call for help. Sebastian knows it and grabs John's arm. “Come.”

John thrashes in the hold of an unfamiliar person waving a gun. “What's going on?!” ****  
  
“Moriarty wants to hurt you if Sherlock fails.. I can't let that happen.” Sebastian insists while pulling the still struggling man out of his flat and onto Baker Street. Seb's car is parked out front, and John fights him on the way inside, struggling while Sebastian forces him in at gun point and locks the door.  
  
Once the blond climbs inside John gets a good look at his solidly cut features and physique. Sebastian drives with his right hand while his left holds his firearm. “I'm taking you to my own place. He doesn't know about it.”

“Who are you?” John looks exasperatedly at the man that has now kidnapped him.  
  
“I work for Moriarty, and I've been watching you.. I'm sorry we had to meet this way John, but I won't let him do that to you.” Although he was telling the truth – this was a matter of safety - Sebastian also hoped that finally this twist, which he saw as fate, would let Moriarty and Sherlock squabble, while he and John could meet at last and maybe, just maybe, Sebastian could finally have the man he has grown to admire through a scope. Moran hoped that if John is trapped with him to hide from Moriarty then Sebastian could have the man fall in love with him.  
  
So Sebastian bet on this rash hope and gave up the employer he devoted himself to for years. All could hope as they sped out of London was that soon John would feel the same and then he could stop pointing the gun at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	51. 203

The detective peels open his eyes with a groggy feeling in him. Skin feeling a bit clammy, as if someone had misted him and let him dry in an air conditioned room. The ache he finds in only certain bones immediately tells his still functioning mind that he has been involved in a fight – and clearly lost.  
  
Slowly his eyes fall into focus, and there before him is the villain always skulking in the shadows. That crisp looking consulting criminal in a suit, Moriarty.  
  
“Taken to kidnapping me now?” Inquires Sherlock chidingly. His head lolls to the side in a show of relaxation, “I thought you disliked getting your hands dirty?”  
  
It makes Jim laugh, “No. I simply had to bring you here.”  
  
  
Why did Jim forcefully bring Sherlock, there if it is not for kidnapping?

******[Because what John doesn't know is...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777239)**  
 **  
[ … No, he really _is_ just kidnapping Sherlock.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775412)**


	52. 535

Months later, life continues on for the pair. There had been a lull in activity after their last case, but once it picked up the two fell back into the thick of it. At least, mostly.

A few things had been changed by their little encounter during that case. Amazing, what a conversation will reveal. So much could hinge on so little, and 221b has indeed changed..   
  
John has lost a little weight and his bed has grown dusty from disuse. Even if Sherlock sometimes kicks him in the night, waking up next to the detective has always made it worthwhile. Though the man is often out of bed, thinking, experimenting, or going through research at odd hours, when he is there John feels at peace.  
  
 ******[Lovey dovey fluffy..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777286)   
**  
[ No, Sherlock's being Sherlock.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775441) 


	53. 537

Then again, some nights John just wants to whack the man in the face.  
  
This is particularly true one night when he awakens by a squealing, like a belabored cotton gin with a balloon caught in its gears. For a moment John panics, thinking something must be wrong, and then he notices the slightly sunken in emptiness beside him. The blogger runs a hand through his hair and sighs, hauling himself out of bed.  
  
He trudges down into the living room, glowering as his eyes fallen on the sullen pouting figure wrenching his wrist back and forth to produce sharp hysteria. John knows exactly what this temper tantrum is about – a lead on a recent case bottoming out.  
  
“Sherlock.. Sherlock!” John tries once to sound decent, then snaps until the detective puts down his violin and turns with a piercing look of menace. “Stop this, shut up, and come back to bed.”

The consulting detective maintains his look of detest, but he does at least lower the violin he has been punishing. Sherlock's quiet voice is a gorgeous lullaby after that racket. “I need to find a new angle, John.”  
  
“You said that one was the last possible hope you could see.”

Sherlock huffed irately, unhappy that John would bring back his own words and throw them in his face. That was all the more reason to dig in and look again, to change his perspective toward the data at hand while making sense of it. Time to look again.  
  
John sighs and walks over to him, taking the violated instrument and laying it down on the nearest flat surface – the table in their living room. Sherlock turns with his arms across his chest, a look of doubt at John. He does not want to go with him and answers as John begins to open his mouth, “No.”  
  
“Come back to bed.” John still says, looking grouchier as time progresses. He advances on the detective, who stares him down interminably. Without any hesitation the undeterred man wraps his arms around the taller figure's shoulders and cuddles against him.  
  
“Sherlock..” John murmurs, nuzzling against the lengthy pale neck, sliding one hand lower and slipping within the man's dressing gown. He lay his hand on Sherlock's waist and breathed in his scent. “Get some sleep.”  
  
 **[John's so damn alluring...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775447)**  
  
 **[Bally well stuff it carnal desires, the game's afoot.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775444)**


	54. 538

“I'm staying up, John.” Sherlock dislikes saying this to John but he has to put his foot down sometimes. Relationship or not, cases are still paramount. “If I don't look at the evidence again and find something I've missed what have we got?” He looks pointedly at the figure snuggling against him, so warm and plush with kissable cheeks, but Sherlock is back to square one on this case and that will not do.

Though exhausted and still willing to try dragging the detective off John smiles. In the past Sherlock would have said 'I' but, after some badgering and blowjobs, he has gotten the frequency of the words 'we' and 'our' to a pleasurable increase. “Sleep might help you think..” His quiet but chipper voice will not sway the other man.  
  
Sherlock shakes his head again and John sighs, leaning in and kissing his cheek. Though he will not relent to sleep he does hug the rounder man he rest his chin atop John's head comfortably. When he pulls away he heads into the kitchen where the case files are laid askew on the table in a frenzied pile.  
  
Then the detective turns and looks with a raised brow as John follows him.

The other man assumes a small smile in spite of his clearly drained body, shaking off the night's cobwebs very slowly. He says nothing, entering the room and taking the top off the nearest cardboard box. Sherlock looks across from him with an infinitesimal smile and begins to root through evidence with his lover at three in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	55. 539

Sherlock finds his flatmate and lover to be the ultimate catalyst of thought, and perhaps a little time away will provide perspective. He normally prefers to engage his mind when taking a mid-case break, and never for long, but a brief physical respite with John may be just the thing he needs.  
  
“I'll come back to bed with you.”

Sherlock's relenting agreement makes John hug him all the tighter. The taller figure twines himself around the smaller one, briefly bringing their lips together. Though John still has sand grains in his eyes he has a penchant for the other man's kisses, and responds to the sweet, chaste caress.

After they part, both breathing easy and John now a bit brighter-eyed, the blogger take his endlessly fascinating subject's hand and veers them toward Sherlock's bedroom, which has become _their_ bedroom now. John's jumpers rest beside Sherlock's expensive shirts in the bureau* and the bed now smells of both of them.  
  
John climbs into bed first, with Sherlock waiting until he moved over. When the two lie down together John throws his arm over Sherlock and expects the evening to be done, but the detective has other plans.  
  
His crafty, supple fingers slide against John's sides and roll him onto his back. When John begins to speak Sherlock silences him by running his fingers down John's chest and sliding his nightshirt off. “I said I would come back to bed, not that I would sleep.”

John lets out an exasperated half moan, half chuckle, tired but aware he would enjoy it. When Sherlock got up to something the outcome was usually quite good.. Toying to his nipples turns his noises into a full moan, soft and shallow yet still loud in the dead night air.  
  
Sherlock has noted and cataloged John's responses over time, at least the basic ones, and he knows the buttons to push, tweak, lick, suckle, bite, or thrust against, to get the response he is looking for. He starts at the man's chest, works to John's mouth with a stirring tongue and during that time gets John's trousers off.

After teasing adoring to each other and time spent divesting them both of their evening attire, their pants, Sherlock takes his lips southward. He does leave numerous markings in his wake. John prefers them to be coverable, and usually (tonight included) Sherlock complies. A snapping bite to John's inner thigh sends him trembling, but that is alright because Sherlock did it where no one will see.

The doctor's shaft twitches and by the time Sherlock stops lavishing his tongue over John's new hickey precum dots the tip. Sherlock's courtly appendage noses John's sac, tongue lolling against the doctor's flesh as his shaft comes more alive in the midst of the night.

John bucks slightly under the analytic's mouth, man whose only control was his body and adoration for John Watson, though he tries to keep them steady as Sherlock begins to lick up his shaft. More of the glistening head becomes visible as Sherlock flicks his tongue over it time and time again after reaching the top.  
  
Sherlock takes John into his mouth with a steady practiced movement. He has since grown quite good at oral sex, having thrown himself head first into their relationship between cases with his usual  
  
The sight of ebony spirals down against his own small brown curls sent John's stomach to somersault. He loves watching Sherlock take his erection in and out of his mouth, but that night he can barely sit up through the erotic play and falls back. His fatigued body leaving him so relaxed that he was nothing but plasma under the scientist, save for one thickening, solid part of him.  
  
  
 **[Soppy, fluffier ending?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775450)**  
  
 **[Naughtier, smutty ending?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775454)**


	56. 540

“Should I use lube, John?” Whispers Sherlock breathlessly, words a tender whoosh across John's hip bone.  
  
John smiles a tiny esoteric grin because 'Should I use lube, John?' always sounds like 'I love you, John.' Even more telling, Sherlock uses lubricant without fail every time, but whether he asks depends on the night.

When Sherlock does ask John feels like he should when hearing those three ageless words. But John thinks those four words will do as long as Sherlock keeps saying them just like that... In that pashmina voice of Sherlock's he finds depths of honesty, but he always has to look. Sherlock himself needs to be analyzed as much as he needs to engaging in analysis.  
  
John will keep digging, keep learning, and plans to in the years to come as long as they are together, which.. he hopes they will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	57. 541

The boffin sleuth pauses to fetch a tube of lube from their nightstand, smearing his fingers and teasing against John's puckered ring. He felt a minor sense of satisfaction as John spread his legs, planting his feet a bit more firmly.  
  
Sherlock rocked his head, taking John's member into his mouth while his fingers inched within the aroused shorter man. Since it was so late in the night he did not play with his digits much, though he took the time to stretch John open and wet his inner backside.

After a shifting of the man above him John's felt the precum-laden head of Sherlock's erection against him. He gyrated enough to brush against it, barely teasing the convex tip inside him, and began to raise his hips. The pale man's bony pelvis a comforting sharpness against John's much plusher bottom.  
  
When Sherlock enters John he takes it slowly and steadily each time, driving John to arch into the bed before snapping up with a sharp pant. Most of the detective fit within him, and what little did not was worth missing so that they could face each other. Sherlock hooked his arms under John's knees, keeping them up for an angle of penetration that would swiftly send them both to paradise, and hopefully after deep sleep.

All concerns for tomorrow morning's investigations melted away as Sherlock finally starts to thrust within John's clamping heat. The other man's well endowed cheeks like soft cushioning against his shaft each time he pulls out.  
  
Sherlock pulsates within his lover and feels the tip of his erection ready to erupt. Slapping flesh and fast pants fill the room that only a half hour earlier registered the sounds of a wretched violin. Now the sound of John moaning, coupled with soft deep inhales from Sherlock, takes over.  
  
The detective forces himself to put off orgasm, shifting John's hips until the precise angle – which he believes to be thirty-nine degrees, and slightly to the right, but cannot test for obvious reasons – is hit and John shudders powerfully, groaning. Sherlock feels the sandy haired man's member move against his stomach and he thrusts in deeper at the same spot.

It only takes half a dozen thrusts against the diamond hard doctor's prostate before John's bollocks clench up against his body and expend his seed on Sherlock's taut, flat stomach. The resulting tremors within him vibrate Sherlock's already hanging on by a thread erection, sending him over the edge to spill his essence within John.

They lie there enraptured, with Sherlock placing tired kisses to John's temple. He pulls out and lays on the blogger's left side. John curls against him and rubs a hand over his smooth hairless chest, dropping off to sleep quickly.  
  
Sherlock's eyes droop and he throws bedsheets around them. For a little while he remains awake, surrounded by John's scent and their combined musk, but finally drops off to catch a few hours before they start another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	58. 490

In their hurry to escape Sherlock's thin fingers tighten over his friend's skin as he grabs hold of John's wrist. He does not want to lose the smaller, slower man.

Likewise John feels a hammer of relief within the constant thundering of his heart as Sherlock touches him while they race ahead. He is not certain why but he finds himself feeling safer knowing the detective has a hold on him.

They only stop once they have gone several blocks, putting the ricochet noise far behind them. Even then they duck into an alley to be out of the main view, just in case their attacker has colleagues or plans to chase them.

Panting harshly with flush faces they stop and catch their breath. John may be heaving harder than Sherlock but he does not miss the appealing pale crimson smatter wrapping around Sherlock's elegant cheek bones. His own face darkens at the realization of exactly where his mind was going with that thought.

Sherlock looks to him, still softly huffing, and he begins to gently laugh. The sound deep in his throat, yet still coming across as a light bubbling.

John finds himself grinning dumbly back at him. “Not.. bored then?” He pants out with a laugh that joins in on his friend's.  
  


**[Do you hear that siren?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775464)**  
  
 **[Jump to Reichenbach Falls?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777253) **


	59. 605

Oddly enough, when Scotland Yard's finest appears they do not come to take Sherlock and John's statements, or get tips to find the sniper(s) but drag them in for questioning. The indignant pair asks for Lestrade and gripes at being called in, though Sherlock most of all.  
  
“What are we being charged with?” John asks in an irate tone that sounds like a bad impersonation of patience.  
  
“Unlawful discharge of a firearm, and possibly attempted homicide.” Says the young officer with a scolding look in her eyes.  
  
“We were the ones shot at!” Sherlock cries with continued intolerance, loathing the force at New Scotland Yard. “Your incompetence never ceases to reach new heights!”  
  
John frowns and maintains a calmer facade than his flatmate. He believes they will run a check on his gun, but he knows from past experience that those take time. If something does not happen soon they will be left there for the rest of that day...  
  
  
 **[Lestrade lets them go.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775856)**  
  
 **[Mycroft saves the day.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775842)**  
  
 **[Moriarty gets involved. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775872)**


	60. 606

“I had hoped never to do this.” Mycroft says with his aristocratic voice starting on a sullen journey.  
  
With an assured step Sherlock and John alighted from the front of the building as free men, not fugitives. Although Lestrade may have been able to clear the way through police channels, including red tape, Mycroft only had to snap his fingers and suddenly the hours of waiting vanished.

The bail money had helped too, but charges would soon be dropped.  
  
“Then you've given it some thought.” Sherlock's response is so rapid that his rapier wit sends John to grin there on the steps. He looks toward the other end of the street to avoid seeing the tempestuous look in Mycroft's eyes, which would only make him laugh out loud.  
  
“John, keep a better watch on my brother.” Mycroft's voice is crisp and authoritative like a headmaster to a student.  
  
John turns back to turn a reluctant, doubtful eye on him. He doubts anyone can 'keep an eye' on Sherlock Holmes. Still, Mycroft looks expectantly to him and John's eyes swivel around before they return to the elder Holmes. “Really?”

“You're the only one with any control over him, John. You two have a.. special relationship.” Mycroft replies with words almost as silken as Sherlock's would be, yet his cannot hold the warmth that Sherlock's voice has.  
  
A well kept black limo slides up to the station, stopping just outside it in perfect conjuncture with the moment Mycroft's foot leaves the bottom step. He nods to both of them, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in his mischievous younger brother. Mycroft curls his lip before climbing into the car.  
  
John shakes his head once the limo has pulled away from the curb. “Control – over you?” He murmurs doubtfully, looking to Sherlock.  
  
Instead of humored doubt, the consulting detective is looking at him with a stare usually reserved for bodies or incomplete experiments. Sherlock turns to leave and...  
  
  
 **[They head back to 221b.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775853) **  
  
**[John follows, curious about his 'control.'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775846) **


	61. 676

They hail a cab and return to 221b without any incident. Considering their day so far this is a huge accomplishment. John says nothing about the conversation with Mycroft moments ago, but he does bring up their encounter with what is only assumed as Moriarty's accomplices as there is no one with a grudge against them, at present. John does ask about whether there are any new grudges, too – Sherlock can easily piss people off.

Once set back home, Sherlock roams the flat like an incessant dog seeking his bone. John may be willing to relax after getting shot at, but Sherlock turns to pacing most of the time and occasionally going through one book or another to complete a thought.  
  
 _A special relationship..._ John's mind replays Mycroft's almost arrogant sounding words. He looks over to the meandering detective and sighs. He has about as much control over Sherlock as a frail, elderly woman does a rabid rottweiler.

That night John decides to test this theory of control, and instead of taking a laid back approach to the evening he pushes forth with what they will do – crappy telly.

The reality show features a bunch of unrealistically chiseled men and buxom over inflated looking women. Not much reality in it at all. John drags Sherlock to the couch and to his surprise the man sits there. He fidgets, uses the laptop, and complains about the show while deducing random extraneous details, but nonetheless Sherlock remains on the couch beside John.

Feeling warmth in his stomach John closes his eyes and leans back against the sofa back. He decides to pretend to fall asleep and lean on Sherlock, taking refuge against the man's shoulder.  
  
Whether Sherlock knew John was not sleeping, or simply decided to say nothing, John could not say. All he knew was that the detective stayed there on the couch and let him 'sleep,' and that was how John came to understand what Mycroft meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	62. 675

At the flat the two settle in to return to their version of normalcy, and a day later they seem to have returned to their usual ways...  
  
“Have you ever thought of writing a book?” Inquires John curiously the next morning, looking to his friend with mild intrigue. “The Science Of Deduction in paperback?”  
  
“No, John. What would be the point of that?” Sherlock remarks, drumming his fingers against the edge of the sofa.  
  
“Oh come on. People find you interesting.” John insists gently, knowing his blog has proven Sherlock is a figure worth following. Almost something of a cult classic in a way. “I bet a book with your..” He watches Sherlock traipse around the kitchen, scratching the back of his head with a pipette, “.. methods would, um, interest people.” Finished John with a bit of brow furrowing at the end.  
  
“Methods? As if anyone can understand my methods.” Sherlock remarks dryly, doubtful of the capabilities of his fellow man at large.

“Come off it, Sherlock,” John replies with a gentle insistence. “They're really all very obvious once you explain them.”

“Have a go.” Sherlock is willing to see how this fanciful, capricious, fabulation would play out.  
  
“Well..” John murmurs before humming, looking Sherlock over and realizing that it is not as easy as he initially thought. Then he notices a bit of a shadow to Sherlock's normally silk-edged jaw. Feeling a touch triumphant his eyes roam over his friend for more.  
  
“You slept late last night,” He considers his lackluster flatmate, “.. and without any gumption this morning, failed to shave.. There's a button missing from your shirt so..” He exhales thoughtfully and surveys his friend with a moment's hesitation.  
  
“Go on.” Sherlock comments quietly, his judgment reserved.

“.. you dressed in a rush to push through the day, for a case..” His eyes roamed the apartment, falling on a pile of mail. “But it fell through?”

“Why do you think that?” Sherlock inquires simply, like an adult waiting to hear a child's version of reality for their own bemusement.  
  
“You've gotten the post, and you never do that.” John remarks with a hopeful air that his attempts have been spot on, at least a few. “But you're still hanging around here, so... I guess it did not pan out?”

“Wrong on all counts but still a fair effort.” Sherlock's praise is half genuine, half bemused superiority.  
  
John stares, flummoxed, and asks expectantly, “Well?”  
  
“My alarm failed to ring and my razor broke. I had gumption, but not the tool nor time.” His eyes are glistening with self satisfaction. “I popped that button off accidentally, and left the shirt on since it's not a day for Mrs. Hudson to sew.” There was a hint of his lazy streak, John had misapplied it.  
  
“I came down with eagerness because my experiment was scheduled to come to fruition today, and I picked up the post not for a specific letter, but catalogs – accessories, John.” Sherlock exhales and picks up a copy of the latest watch models. “They tell us something of a person.”

Sherlock leans back against the back of the sofa with both feet flat on the floor, studying John with arrogance from his lofty intellectual pedestal, “It simply was a poor day for technology. And your deduction skills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending (yes this is a version of the dollhouse ACD)! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	63. 607

Sherlock rests with a placid expression while John paces, until Lestrade comes. He shakes his weathered head at them. “What happened?”  
  
“Can you be any worse at your job?” Sherlock murmurs to himself, a petulant turn in his voice that only loosens everyone's composure further.  
  
“Did you fire a gun?” Lestrade asks evenly, for the answer will determine whether he has to arrest them or not. He keeps his verbiage and tone professional, though he does not entirely disguise his distaste with Sherlock's attitude.  
  
“No-” John begins to reply, ready to explain what happened earlier, and that he did not return fire because they were too busy running to turn and aim at the real shooter. Sherlock cuts him off by opening John's coat reaching in, and shuffling his hand around in a startlingly familiar manner.  
  
Lestrade looks on with a slight gape to his lips at Sherlock's intimacy with John's pockets. John just looks on with a raised brow.  
  
The tall slender figure removes John's service revolver and promptly disassembled it to show Lestrade the interior. “No soot nor carbon above here..” Sherlock points to the top strap, before opening to the chambers, “Rings indicating use are dull from _past_ use.” He deposits the weapon on the table for Lestrade's own inspection of it. The older man knows what a fired gun looks like, and this is not it.  
  
“Alright look, it's clearly been reported the wrong way 'round. I'm letting you both go.” Lestrade decides after a few moments to think it through – holding them would be an injustice.  
  
John thanks him, but Sherlock does not as they have no purpose being arrested. At least they are free to go...  
  
 ** **[Head back to the flat..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775853)****


	64. 630

Oddly enough as they wait for Lestrade to take care of the forms and all the red tape that goes along with their unjustified incarceration John gets bailed out. Only John.  
  
He stares at the guard and asks whether the man is certain he has the right John. Then he sends the officer to make sure that Sherlock is not also bailed out – what reason would anyone have only bailing out one of them?  
  
Once thoroughly assured that only he had been taken care of John assured his still behind bars comrade, “I'll get your bail taken care of.”

Sherlock nods, knowing he could trust John to the task. He watches the doctor leave quickly and begins to ponder the strange preceding events.

* * *

  
“There's the gentleman who paid your bail.” Informs the desk Sergent to John, swinging the end of his pen toward the door. Then he returns to the paperwork in front of him.

Interested and grateful John walks through the translucent double doors and then stops short, wondering what has happened to the world.  
  
Why is Moriarty outside a police station?

Terror in a Westwood... stands outside the station, leaning against a lamp post with his hands behind his back; Polished shoes, a pinstripe suit, and a silk waistcoat, all custom tailored, made him a Hollywood style picture there outside the station. His eyes grew wide with excitement as soon as John appeared.

There is no one else there, which also leads to another peculiar thought – where is his bondsman? As a smirk begins to spread across that handsome villain's face John's innards tighten at the realization that Moriarty set him free... alone.

As John reaches the bottom of the steps he is floored by the sight of Moriarty pulling a boquet of a dozen crimson colored roses from behind his back. The toying Irishman instead smiles charmingly and offers them to John.

After all, he has been trying to get John's attention all this time. Following incessant failure Jim had thought perhaps he would give the conventional attempt a go (after getting him arrested to make John need him). Just this once...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	65. 250

They leave... together.  
  
Sherlock follows after Jim, not quite sure how this is happening, but his feet take him in the slick-haired man's wake, who says nothing but bears a vainglorious smirk. Once hidden away in a waiting car of Moriarty's, Jim gives Sherlock a series of locations to choose from. Sherlock picks the second nearest.  
  
One of Jim's many flats..  
  
They walk in together, a picturesque pair in the daylight heading inside an amusing modernly decorated place. Open, airy and remarkably uncluttered – a bit like an apartment in a show catalog as if it is set up but not yet lived in. Sherlock cannot help but note that there are no bills lying out on tables and no mail in the slot. No photographs on any wall or side table either.  
  
The furniture is new, chic and barely used. It all looks soft and plush. Jim's small bar is displayed as his former enemy opens it, proving it to be well stocked. It is not so much a home as it is a convenient place for a respite.  
  
Sherlock knew before he walked in that this is one of many places Jim resides in, and likely a place that was set up to be quickly abandoned as well as provide comfort. The data only confirmed that. A clever little bachelor pad, but only an outer layer of the real Jim, for now.

“Can I mix you somethin'?” Jim inquires as he walks up behind Sherlock, who is standing in the living room to survey if like a regent over his kingdom. Jim grins and wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist, sighing as he leans in and sniffs the heady scent of cotton wool and the tiniest hint of the detective's musk.

Jim could just lean his head against the back of Sherlock's neck. So when the consulting detective turns around his chin ends up on top of Jim's head and the former villain is curled up against Sherlock's chest (which is why Jim will not complain at all, nor move).  
  
“Mor-” Sherlock begins to say Moriarty and stops himself, reaching down and caressing the side of the visage that has haunted his nightmares before his dreams. “Jim.” He corrects himself, sounding stronger. The man starts in with a tone made for giving briefings, “I'm not given too much into the physical so-”  
  
“Shut up and kiss me, Sherlock.” Interrupts Jim, nuzzling against his neck with his eagerness now manifesting itself physically.

The detective pulls back just more than one iota enough and looks down with a long face and flummoxed eyes at Jim's abrupt request, though, he supposes he ought have been expecting that. He leans in and presses his lips to Jim's, uncertainly at first, but with rising ease.

The other man is a soft, plaint figure. A least as far as his lips go, but Jim has rough hands which seek out Sherlock's buttocks and grip him firmly. Their lower bodies clash pleasantly through the fabric of their clothes, Jim's groin just a bit lower than Sherlock's.  
  
 ****  
 ** **[Sherlock stops to think about it...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777171)****  
  
 **[Time to strip down...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777189) **  
  
**[ No time for that, up against the wall!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777221) **


	66. 269

 Their kiss is electrifying both their hearts into a quickstep march. Sherlock feels.. so much. For the first time in his life he cannot hold back emotional, and this is a tidal flood. His skin everywhere Jim touches and rubs against is ten times more noticeable, and more worth so much more of his attention when they stay in contact. With so much going on within his sensitive, inexperienced body it is no wonder Sherlock pulls back, panting.  
  
“What is it?” Jim asks upon noticing the faint flush to his new lover's face. On the pale visage it is difficult not to notice, however faint it is; A bit like the first coloring to a bloom, soft and powder-pink.  
  
Sherlock hesitates for a long several seconds, looking off to the side as he thinks, before sighing and shaking his head with a stubbornly begrudging admission, “I don't think I can now.”

“Can what?” Jim asks irately, as he begins to raise his hackles with a stern upturn of his formerly loving lips.

Instead of a verbal response Sherlock reaches down and lightly strokes the outside trouser leg of Jim's thigh. Jim chuckles with understanding, the sound a titillation, “Aha.. Oh my Sherlock Holmes. I did call you The Virgin for a reason – and I can wait.” His final words said in a lulled voice, suddenly sounding more Moriarty than Jim.

“I simply need more time to think. Rather, it's the suddenness of our affiliation.” The great graceful shoulders pull away from the smaller, more slender man. He furrows his brows and pivots slightly away from Jim.  
  
“Can't you think now?” Asks the criminal in a petulant, slightly higher pitched voice. Sherlock angles his torso just enough to give a cold yet smoldering stare at those words. Jim pouts at the rebuking look, crossing his arms and walking over to the sofa while murmuring, “Sherlock, you're just having some virgin anxiety..”

“These are abrupt changes, no matter how thrilling our relationship.” Sherlock closes down that idea with a slamming speed. “And we have been enemies, until now.” He has his reasons, and they make sense to him. He squares a squinting stare over at Moriarty.

“As you said 'our relationship' I suppose I'll let you win this once.” Jim replies with thick affection and teasing, though without the additional deadly edge it usually bore when speaking toyingly. “C'mon, sit with me, Sherlock..” Jim's voice turning even more honeyed than usual as he spoke in low soothing tones, a bit like a horse whisperer though his specialty would be boffin detectives.

More due to his willingness to engage, in part if not in whole, than due to any skill on Moriarty's part, Sherlock walked over and lowered his limber frame next to Jim on the sofa. The former villain slipped one arm around Sherlock's shoulders and leaned in for a gentler, soothing kiss. Sherlock responds and relaxes, taking hold of Jim's hand and letting their fingers lazily play together.  
  
As they pull back for air Jim releases Sherlock's digits and begins to edge up his thigh while also slowly angling inward as he goes along. He dips his head down and suckles one of Sherlock's earlobes between his lips, slurping it into his mouth.

Jim is not deterred, he is merely rerouting his affection to tease slow tremors into the detective. His fingers traipse along Sherlock's trousers, teasing his groin through the fabric and feeling the taller man stir to life. They can have pleasure, but there need not be penetration this time..

When there is a prize worth waiting for, worth torturing yourself slowly over time while waiting for it to come to fruition, Jim can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	67. 261

With each passing kiss errant fingers sweep across fabric, undoing buttons, and taking down zippers. Both men peeling back the layers of professionalism surrounding them. That perfunctory perfection each displays with their well tailored attire is left behind in a pile on the floor with a memory of passion soaked lips.

It is a pleasant journey that they take slowly, sometimes stopping their kisses to look upon each other, pull back a garment, or to kiss a newly bared patch of skin. They already know each other's professional exteriors and mental interiors – here is the novelty.

Jim moves ahead to divest the porcelain skinned man of his final garment, siting on the sofa to be at the proper height. Sherlock's pants coming off slowly, with Jim exhaling a satisfied murmur that Sherlock finds flattering. Once they're bare the fun can really begin.

Jim nips a mark onto Sherlock's collarbone and swirls his tongue in the detective's belly button. His mouth wanders. So do his hands. The excitable figure that he is translates into an explorative new partner and a pattern of hickeys on Sherlock's neck and chest.

Sherlock finds himself just wanting to kiss Jim with a mad passion, letting his tongue get a bit wild, and his fingers explore, but not going farther. His mind takes each inch with precise attentiveness, letting all of Jim's body consume him. It quiets him somewhat, interestingly..

When they pull back from a lasting kiss and look at each other Jim says..  
  


 ****    **[“My bedroom is through there.”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777192)**


	68. 263

“My bedroom is through there.” Jim says breathlessly, his face flushing slightly from the exertion on his lungs.  
  
Sherlock turns to look at the door frame Jim gestures toward with an open palm. He glances at Jim, then moves inside with a flutter of anticipation and nervousness.

They walk in together, bare bodied, with Sherlock's slightly apprehensive but his infinitesimal smile signaling his intrigue and joy, and Jim's blatant smirk on his face is smug and lustful. Jim cannot help but enjoy that this is the culmination of their criminal chess game.

Jim slips into bed following after Sherlock, and a flat playing field returns them to kissing fiercely. The elated villain now bearing only soft, willing lips toward Sherlock. The detective grips one of his forearms to steady himself, but otherwise loses himself in their caress.  
  
They slowly stretch out on their sides and press against each other. The friction of their uncovered skin sending Sherlock to tip back his head, and Jim, of course, had to fall upon his bared neck like some fevered plague. The shivery sensation makes Sherlock's body quiver minutely, and he enjoys every minute of it.

Their bodies meld until the heat of Sherlock's semi-erect form against Jim's is just not enough...  
  


 Who would you prefer to top?

**[Sherlock Holmes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777197)   **

**[Jim Moriarty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777227)**


	69. 264

Sherlock may be new to experiencing sex, but he comprehends the process and its general ins and outs. Yet actually engaging in it is a slow, slightly bumbling process with lots of groping and awkwardness. Jim gets bemused, which Sherlock is grateful for. Bemusement is easier to deal with than annoyance.

The one who stops for lube and explains how to roll a condom on is Jim, whose manic eyes convey excited enthusiasm, but he is patient for Sherlock. Downright helpful in fact..

Jim gets on his hands and knees, deciding it would be the easiest position for both of them. The detective grips his lower cheeks, spreading them apart slightly, making Jim groan then giggle. Sherlock finds himself rather liking the picture Jim makes with his pert cheeks on display and his small wrinkled hole visible now that he is bent over.

Once kneeling there, so exposed from behind, Jim wriggles his hips and makes some of Sherlock's nerves abate with his shameless ever-permeating comfortability in all surroundings. One hand moves, so that he can prepare himself, being the more experienced one out of them.

Sherlock kneels beside the man and strokes the back of Jim's silken thighs as the criminal reaches between his own legs. The fingers of Sherlock's other hand twist within Jim's raven hair, wearing on the well greased locks and slowly tipping Jim's head back. Once deep underneath, the detective's spindly digits flexed against the criminal's skull. For a virgin he is pleased with himself when he sees Jim's reaction..

Sherlock has never seen the other man so relaxed. Jim is leaning into his fingers, body loose and shoulders forward. His shins hit the mattress, and slowly so does his chest. Those black, nefarious eyes are closed and his expression rather contented. It looks like a comfortable slump, and only further makes Jim appear endearing to Sherlock's eyes.  
  


             Does Sherlock...  
 **[... take Jim without hesitation?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777212)**  
  
 **[ ... try to be gentle, but Jim wants none of that?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777204)**


	70. 280

 The detective considers what would be an appropriate action at this point, fingers still working their soothing ministrations. Finally he decides to lean forward and place light kisses along Jim's jaw.

Such a gentle move makes the criminal chuckle under his breath and open his lust-fogged stare. “Sherlock.. back up and fuck me.” He orders before chuckling breathily and adding soothingly, “As cute as you are up here, you'd be far better back there.”

With his eyes taking in the prettily cut figure of Moriarty splayed out Sherlock nearly misses his tone. The Irishman is still thinking he is in charge.. Time for the consulting detective to put a stop to that.

Sherlock reaches under Jim, letting his long fingers slide against his stomach, and flips him over onto his back. Jim lets out a huff and tries to sit up, only to have Sherlock take hold on one of his thighs. They square off in a stare until Sherlock leans over and licks down Jim's leg. The sight of his limber tongue working its way down Jim's thigh is enough for both of them.

With Jim on his back it is easy for Sherlock to get at his front, lying like a blanket on his tanned chest, working his lips on Jim's nipples for a few minutes. Even with his shaft prodding the firm flesh of the man under him Sherlock had to taste him, however briefly.  
  
Jim groans at the touch, liking the eagerness and curiosity that makes Sherlock such a thrilling man to deflower. Giving up a little control only makes their coupling sweeting in Jim's eyes.

Desire fuels Sherlock and he deeply wishes to take Jim as the man offers himself now. A brilliant mind – and surely an equally brilliant body...

Hungry for that body he lifts Jim's legs, and the competent criminal wraps them around his waist. They nearly line up without help, but Sherlock's fingers guide his erection the rest of the way. A little pressure is all that his hips need to yield before the head pushes Jim's entrance apart, sliding into his stiff hole.

The choking feeling makes Sherlock groan and start pumping his hips without waiting to let Jim adjust – not realizing due to a lack of experience and lack of planning. So Jim lets out an undignified squeal, jerking his shoulders forward and nearly barreling down into the bed under them. He gropes on the sheets, seeking to make purchase on anything that will stop him from bouncing underneath the randy detective.

All the while Jim grins with manic, almost deranged pleasure. Sherlock is going to take him over and over tonight, and yet now, in their first round together, his body feels as a supernova before its final moment.

Jim trembles to think what they will feel like in an hour, while Sherlock, for the first time in his life, cannot move out of living in the moment..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	71. 285

 The detective eyes the bedside table – a box of tissues, some smudges which are likely fingerprints, a scratch from the table lamp being shifted.. Sherlock reaches into the drawer of that table and pulls out the tube of lubricant he deduced was there.  
  
Being pleased with his skill makes it easier to launch into something so novel but it was almost medically simple. _Slow to let the body adjust, gentle stretching to increase the inner capacity.._ Sherlock broke it down to a rational ease that did deflate his erection a bit, but it also gave Jim a good internal slicking. He rode the detective's fingers into the mattress, not minding giving a word or two of instruction when he wanted those digits curving just a little more.

Sherlock removes both fingers and wipes them off on the bedsheets. He takes hold of his own shaft and makes it glisten with a sheer outer coating of lubricant before pressing against Jim's puckered hole. The villain groans and lifts himself up a little, evening out horizontally.

That first thrust takes Sherlock's virginity, and with it proves that Jim is capable of shutting off his mind. A torrential flurry of thought is shut down as all facts, logic, and Sherlock's very precise way, ceases. All Sherlock knows is the feel of those clamping walls, and their barely-slick enough forms gliding against each other.

Once he starts thrusting the detective picks up a quick pace, keeping a fair two-part rhythm that does not deviate too much – rather impressive for a virgin really. Sherlock grabs Jim around the waist and makes their thrusts more fluid, kneeling there between his spread legs.  
  
His body feels like every muscles is pulled taut toward his shaft, while waves of pleasure pulsate against his shaft from the feel of sliding in and out of Jim. From the huffing pants of his lover as he drives into him Sherlock thinks Jim's fairly pleased, too.

Like most virgins he does not sense his forthcoming orgasm until it is too late, and jerks his hips roughly up into Jim's depths. Sherlock cries out with a high, sharp exclamation, somewhat like finding the precise fact among a field of germane rubbish. His first climax is a powerful rush that leaves him slapping against Jim.

When the erratic movements come into Sherlock's thrusts Jim knows he is cumming before he feels the new addition slickness. The shorter man reaches down and fists himself to completion while Sherlock is still semi-hard within him, panting and then arching. He moans as his essence spills in pearly droplets onto his bedsheets. Jim slumps forward limply into the mess moments later, breath heaving.   
  
  
 **[Onward to the snuggling...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1778818)**


	72. 262

 With how long they have chased and hounded each other, literally becoming the figures of the other's horrors, it is a mercy they have not slept together sooner. Each roll of Jim's hips breaths fire into Sherlock's veins, and Jim already feels quiet warm himself.  
  
Their kisses grow rougher as need mounts, exacerbated between them at an exponential rate until they wrench off the lips of the other to take in big gulping breaths. Both men take hold of the other's belts and trousers, fumbling to get them at least partway down.  
  
Jim is the first who turns, pressing one hand against the nearest wall and hauling Sherlock against him with the other. The detective groans softly, a hiss of a sound in the quiet apartment, and follows suit after his new lover.  
  
When something strokes him from below Sherlock thrusts into the welcoming soft texture, hearing Jim chuckle then wrap his fingers firmly around Sherlock's staff. He lifts the detective's erection to press against his puckered opening. Jim gives a few more strokes while guiding them into place, and, getting the drift, Sherlock slowly began thrusting into him.

“Shh, stop there.” Pants Jim after Sherlock pushes, what feels like, half his shaft inside Jim's backside. The ebony haired man's hands rest on the shorter one's shoulders, fingers curled tightly around his expensive suit. Sherlock leans down and draws patterns on Jim's neck with the tip of his tongue.

Their thrusts start slowly, and, like the evening, their passion will rise as they become enamored with each others' bodies as well as their minds.

* * *

  
By the end of their coupling, and another two couplings after that, they lie in a satisfied, sweat drained clump on Jim's bed. Sherlock lies back after an exhaustive final display, all angles and flat planes of pale skin..   
  


**[Jim has something to say...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1778818)**


	73. 267

A graceless length of bare detective sprawled out across a mattress is too much to resist. Jim rocks his hips gently, knocking up against Sherlock's thin form. He forces his lower body to still and puts a gentle pressure on Sherlock's shoulder, rolling the taller man onto his back. Sherlock's bright blues look wild at the position, and Jim leans over him and gives a smile. Not a smirk, but a genuine pull of his lips into a toothy, pleasured grin.

Jim's fingers slide forward, pads of his thumbs brushing along those requisite cheekbones while his other digits curve and his knuckles brush along after his thumbs. Such a soft, measured touch from a man who thrived on chaos.

Sherlock has never been fond of physical affection but from Jim his mind stirs into a strange, precise focus. No deviating, no tangents. He slowly does shut himself off to anything that is not within the bedroom in that moment. Jim's touch sends a twitch to Sherlock's almost fully hard shaft.

Their stare so much closer now with Jim having pulled them together. Unblinking, neither falters against the gaze of the other. Both come away contented. It feels like reading a chapter of their lives, all through a stare.

Jim lets go and pulls away just enough to get into his bedside table, fishing around for a small tube. When he comes back he nips eagerly at Sherlock's neck, "Do you trust me, Sherlock?"  
  


  
 **** **[Yes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777233)     or   [No](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777228)    ?**


	74. 275

"Not entirely, but that won't stop us." Sherlock replies with a raise of his brows. His blunt honesty only makes Jim grin and plant a firm yet tender kiss against those precious, incomparably light pinkish lips. Of course the man has to swash/swish his tongue across the seam of Sherlock's lips at the end.

Jim smirks and pushes on the detective's shoulders, watching the taller figure fall back against the mattress. As Sherlock tries to lift himself out of the sprawl Jim grabs hold of his ankles and tips his legs upward. Jim does not stop until the bottom of Sherlock's feet are parallel with the ceiling. By then the detective realizes this is a position to stay in and does not move out of it. He does slightly flush though, having never been so raw before another person.

Only adding to the intimate feeling that bubbles in Sherlock, Jim leans over the man with a smirk, letting his face dip, with teasing slowness, closer to Sherlock's shaft. His eyes remain fixed with Sherlock's bright copper sheened stare until he absolutely has to look down to line up his lips.

Jim's welcoming mouth stirs Sherlock like a thousand vibrations from his member straight up into his every nerve, ringing them like a billion small bells under his skin. The detective arches and bucks his hips.

Meanwhile Moriarty had been busy slicking his fingers and preparing to probe the detective's bottom when Sherlock bucked. Suddenly Jim had a heavy mouthful and a randy, writhing virgin. As Jim pulls off he cannot help but start smiling as Sherlock groans, but he can only take a mouthful while multitasking. Luckily for Jim his first touch to Sherlock's entrance distracts the man enough to settle him down.

Each new knuckle's worth feels like a terrifyingly large invasion, and so Jim finds himself slowing down and opening Sherlock's sexuality tentatively. To watch the well composed detective melt into an angular mass of arousal is all Jim needs to stay aroused in the meantime, making the salty tang slicking his tongue a bonus.

Once Sherlock is limber enough Jim takes his mouths away, to Sherlock's chagrin, and he squeezes some of the thick gelatin onto his shaft, rubbing it across himself with a moan. The moment he lines himself up with the detective he finds himself grinning - that they have come to this, above all things, is not something either of them saw coming, but they can forgive themselves for that because their newfound relationship is the best ending of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	75. 270

 Sherlock looks from the tube to Jim's baited breath expression; Virgin or not it does not take a genius to work out where this is heading. "Obviously," Replies the midnight haired intellectual to his equivalent peer and newfound lover. He raises his distributed brow, "Would we be here if I didn't?"

"Ugh, talking like that may as well be your dirty talk.." Jim muttered with grating arousal. He bites down on Sherlock's shoulder, listening to the consulting detective hiss then groan lowly.

Jim pulls Sherlock onto his lap, holding the taller man's hips to guide him where he wants him.

Jim's fingers are artistic and functional, but not as fine and sculpted as Sherlock's. Still, they will have to do and after slicking them with the lube he teases between Sherlock's cheeks. The detective grunts at the intrusion, shifting a little to make it easier for Jim. He slides his arms around Jim's shoulders, sighing, "I thought you would be the one in this position."

"Unhappy?" Jim chuckled under his breath, fiercely kissing the pale man's jaw. "From bottoming, or making an inaccurate deduction?" He watches Sherlock pout at his astute reply and lays a harsh kiss on him. Jim curls his probing finger and listens to the subsequent guttural groan.

The taller genius arches forward, hitting his flat chest against Jim's. The criminal can hear his husky panting and he adds a second finger, starting to slowly stretch them apart within the detective's constrictive heat. The bed starts to rock a little as Sherlock cannot help but buck against the touch. At that Jim grins and decides enough is enough.

He moves the man off him and Sherlock shifts, lying against the mattress on his back. Jim spreads his legs apart with a wink, then grabs the lubricant and squirts a heavy dollop onto his palm, rubbing it along his hard member while looking over the slightly sweaty man with a figure like an angel. Humankind was not as unique as this... Not to Jim's eyes, and that makes Sherlock his angel.

Jim's fingers work beneath them, lining the head of his erection up with Sherlock's puckered hole that is already reddened from toying and glistening with lube. He smirks once they are aligned, with Sherlock's hips raised precariously over his own, and he forces a harsh kiss on his new lover, entering slowly.

His hips tremble, Jim can feel the virgin's body is almost too tight. It seems like it is trying to reject him, it clamps down so unrelentingly, but once he starts to slide within it clenches down and keeps him there, almost needing him.

Jim groans, only aware of the clench in his bollocks and the push of extra lube collecting against Sherlock's ring while he slides partway in. He slows when the huffs of air falling against his shoulder from the consulting detective's breath become quick and unsteady, and pushes in more once Sherlock's breath settles.

The Irishman grabs at Sherlock's head, getting a handful of ebony locks to strangle. He keeps his other hand splayed on Sherlock's hip to guide them. Waiting is agony...

Jim begins to thrust and Sherlock cries out sharply. It is the highest pitched noise Jim has ever heard him make. The criminal nuzzles him while Sherlock lets out a long groan, "Ba-ahstard.." Sherlock tries to lift his hips further back, but Jim is in the perfect position to ride him.

“You love it..” Jim whispers with coaxingly, playful and so randy now that he is buried within the graceful detective. Sherlock grips his forearms and spreads his legs further, tossing his head back and hating the minute whimper dragged from his throat.  
  
Jim pumps his hips into New Scotland Yard's favorite bloodhound, who writhes, and Jim thinks how sweet it is that nobody else will ever see him this way. They will see his scarves and coats wrapping him up tightly and Jim has this intimate nudity painted in his mind forevermore. The symphony of soft cries is fast becoming a soundtrack in Jim's mind – and no one else will hear Sherlock's climax. If ever there is justice in the world.. this is it.

When the slender man jerks his hips and lets his essence hit inside the no-longer-a-virgin detective Sherlock arches up off the bed. Jim grips his hips with delicate craftsman's hands. Deep inside Sherlock, Jim leaves a physical mark. ****  
  
Sherlock climaxes suddenly with a final rapid thrust of his bony hip against Jim's buttocks. When Sherlock accepted Jim earlier he knew what he was doing in his subconscious, but only now does it fully surface. It hits him that accepting Jim like this will leave a mark. Not one anyone else can see, but something he will feel. His body will remember the way Jim's feels surrounding him. He will start to think of the man out of the blue.  
  
It will get in the way.  
  
In the way or not, neither man will stop this now that the avalanche has begun. Let what come what may.. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	76. 206

“You could text, most people do.” Sherlock remarks while he sits up, pushing himself off the couch he has found himself on. The boxy room and neat orderliness of their surroundings – clean, posh, yet not too extravagant – tells Sherlock that Moriarty has taken him to a hotel. “Then again you're not most people.”

“How boring would it be if I sent you a text when I wanted a shag?” Jim shakes his head in disbelief, unwilling to enter into that sort of commonality. Their games were what made them, and that could not stop, not even for romance.  
  
“The gunfire scared John.” Sherlock continues with a chiding that Jim knows from experience does not last long. This is hardly the first time they have met, and Moriarty has yanked Sherlock off the street before, but usually a bullet-fueled chase is not involved.

“Well I had to get rid of him somehow.” Jim turns and bats his lashes at the man who his lackey just beat up in a back alley, a scientific man whose aches dissipate.  
  
  
 **[Is Jim feeling frisky..?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777240) **  
  
**[Sherlock beckons him over..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777243) **

**[Is Sherlock still irritated about the gunfire?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777245)  **


	77. 230

“And why is that?” Sherlock inquires though it is blatantly obvious the question is a mockery. He knows exactly what Jim is up to from the saunter in the man's hips as Jim stalks across the room.  
  
Without waiting the consulting criminal throws a leg over Sherlock and mounts him like a Mayfair pony. “Why do you think?” Purrs Moriarty in return, bright eyes now half lidded.

Immediately the thin artistic hands reach for crisp Westwood trousers, and Jim's square even digits begin to work Sherlock's jacket and shirt free to nip at his taut alabaster skin. With things only starting Jim works slowly to kiss and bite at Sherlock's upper torso, leaving few marks. The detective dislikes leaving a chance they might be discovered, but Jim allows Sherlock to do whatever he desires to his body.

The weight of their shafts through their clothes is enough for now without either of them moving their hips. Both feeling the stirrings of the other, with Jim's roving hand lazing down to stroke Sherlock through the fabric separating them.  
  
Jim's shins against the couch provide some stability, and when he feels tired of leaning he lays against Sherlock's expansive body. That is always a fine opportunity for light kisses to his neck and temple. The surreal man's angelic facial features make Jim run his lips and tongue along those cheekbones – he adores caressing Sherlock's face, watching the man's eyes flutter below his lids.  
  
They remove each other's clothing exploratively slow, even if both knows the other's form quite well by now they never find the other dull. Sherlock cannot see the villain who blends seamlessly into crowds as a germane-looking figure, but only as an unorthodox beauty. Someone whose features and mind are as misunderstood as his own, at least in Sherlock's opinion for he does not see himself as attractive..

Except when Jim kisses him and whispers honeyed little phrases, as he is doing now. “You're stunning in all ways..” His tongue laps around Sherlock's now freed nipple, sending the detective's blood rushing southward with a groan.

Gunfire or not, Sherlock counts this as a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	78. 225

“Don't hurt, John.” Sherlock gives one final admission before dropping that subject. Truthfully he knows Jim does not see things that way, and since his own view of life is a bit skewed Jim will get a little leeway from him, as he can understand better than most. He beckons to Jim to come over to him, and the normally dastardly man moves to obey.

Sherlock gives him a cautionary but welcoming stare, “I would dislike hating you.”

“John still doesn't know, of course..” Jim says with more despondency than he actually feels, trying to goad some attention out of Sherlock at the militant doctor's expense – a fairly standard practice for Jim.

“If anyone knew, this would implode.” Sherlock points out with his flat line emotion, sticking to logic even if they discussed their secretive relationship.

“Would you miss this, then?” Jim asks with all the insistence of a dog pawing at the door to get outside.

“Don't sound like a fairytale character.” Sherlock replies, making Jim sigh. The pale, taller man does not want to discuss what they have out loud. Much of it is left to Jim's imagination, which is a vibrant tumult at the best of times..  
  
Jim sits on the edge of the sofa and Sherlock winds one arm around his waist, bringing some comfort back to both of them. No matter how precarious their relationship he always finds ease in the detective's arms, and vice versa. It settles Jim immensely, because he knows Sherlock does care even if the words will not be easily said.

When they are together nothing else matters. As soppy as it sounds it is true; Both men focus so exclusively that their wide factual minds diminish to a lens entirely made up of the other. Jim leans his chin on Sherlock's shoulder and inhales the detective's scent – acrid chemical scent, tobacco smoke, a licorice odor, and sweat adding a nice musk.  
  
“Sherlock..” He murmurs, lifting a hand to point to an open door, “Let's go to the bed.”  
  
  
 **[To the start of the smutty end...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777192) **  
  
**[Right to the happy, snuggly ending.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1778818) **


	79. 220

Sherlock's stoic exterior does not relent as Jim had expected it would by now. His voice remains stiff and that distance Jim does not like. “Affection or not, we agreed on certain parameters to our relationship.” He carefully enunciates to make his meaning clear, “Force is not one of them.”

“Why do you let that ordinary thing get in our way? We could be so much more fun..” Jim sighs, walking across the room to his volatile lover, lips in a small smile.  
  
“I'm not letting anything get in our way,” Sherlock corrects him with snappish precision. “I have expectations.” His eyes relax slightly as Jim comes to the sofa and kneels beside him.  
  
“You and I, Sherlock..” Jim breaths out with a hint of wanton lust. He leans forward in that dapper suit while his brows arch up along his elongated forehead. Magnificent luminous eyes like a window into that fantastically brilliant brain that drew Sherlock to fall in love with him in the first place.

The consulting detective lifts an elegant limb and pushes his limber digits into Jim's slicked hair. The villain dips his head down to caress his lips against the detective's clavicle. Moriarty's fingers opening the buttons of his shirt like an incessant spider.

“I know.” Sherlock whispers back, a touch breathless already.  
  
  
 **[Continue onward!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777189)**


	80. 900

With time's passage many things fade, but not animosity.  
  
Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty have been moving around each other, testing each other, preparing for the climax of their delicate affiliation. All this time the real battle was yet to come. The cases leading up to the present have only been moments spent testing each other and judging their worthiness.

When both found nothing lacking, at least not intellectually, they are lead to The Fall by Jim, who cannot see a better ending for their partnership – the chance for triumph above a worthy foe or to see if he falls short before his enemy... or perhaps something more.  
  
Jim Moriarty sits on the edge of the building, letting Stayin' Alive ring out from his cellular phone. He looks as dapper as every in a two button gray Westwood, with a black jacket not quite as long as Sherlock's. Jim had thought of the other man while trying it on..

He had thought about Sherlock a great deal.. a great deal indeed. As the rooftop door opened, revealing the polestar of his thoughts, Jim looked over with expectation in his eyes as Sherlock crosses the roof to meet him.

“Well here we are at last." Whispers Jim in a befittingly soft grandiose voice. "You and me, Sherlock, and our problem. The final problem.”  


**[Into the rooftop argument!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777256)**  
  
 **[Or is romance involved under all this intellectual sparking?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777265)**


	81. 901

“Stayin' alive... it's so boring, isn't it?”  
  
Sherlock paces a little as the Irishman begins his tirade. They verbally squabble, each looking at the other with both the appreciation of a fair opponent, and the stare of a man to a deadly beast.  
  
Early on Jim outlines why Sherlock must take his life there on the roof – snipers waiting to see him fall, or they harm the people he cares for. The narrow eyed detective gives him a doubtful stare, trying to use logic to smash holes in Jim's plan, yet at every turn Moriarty proves how wily he is.

When Sherlock realizes that this is what he must do to save the people he loves – the few cherished figures in his life – and he is willing. Their blood on his hands is something he cannot take. Nameless faces are one thing, but Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and John...

John? Sherlock could never let any thing happen to his sole friend. Moriarty knew it at the pool, and now on the rooftop of St. Bart's nothing had changed. Sherlock's Achilles' heel is still one pudgy, sandy haired, army doctor.  
  
“I've got a pill if you want to be dead before you hit the ground.” Jim murmurs teasingly against the shell of Sherlock's ear. He withdraws a small thinner-than average pill with an odd chartreuse colored outer capsule.

“That's generous of you.” Sherlock replies in a clipped tone.

“Poetic – brings us full circle.” Jim's soft, snarky laugh is met with a blank stare for a split second before Sherlock comprehends it.  
  
Then Sherlock understands, and he cannot realize why he did not see this coming. “The first case – the cabbie.”  
  
“Our first.” Jim corrects with a blazing glint of his eyes. He holds the single pill out to Sherlock with a toying smirk. “Oh just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort.”  
  
  
 ******[Sherlock takes the pill.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777262)** **  
**  
[Dark!Sherlock approach taken.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777264)


	82. 905

Silence meets Moriarty's offer. His manic grin remains, the pill still held out by an unflinching hand.  
  
“John?” Sherlock softly asks again.

“Not just John..” Jim reiterates the decision Sherlock must make.  
  
Sherlock thinks of the logic, of the damage capable by a fall from that height, and he realizes he may live through it. Yet, there on the edge of the abyss, faced with the loss of an enemy, would he want to?  
  
After a moment the detective's eyes harden and he takes the pill from the other man's hand. Sherlock turns on his heel and walks to the edge of the rooftop with the small greenish-yellow capsule in hand. He mounts the edge and breaths deeply. After a considerate moment he knows this choice is right – clean cut, and the best for everyone who matters.

Pushing the pill over his lips and leaning that last frightening inch must be the right thing, and he goes through with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching an end - Sorry you hit a sad one!
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	83. 907

“Go on. For me..” Jim trills with the pill in his extended hand. His eyes are blown wide, the look in them manic. He is aglow with untempered chaos because he knows he is untouchable, unless he wants to be.  
  
“You're insane.” Sherlock replies breathlessly as he finally realizes just how far gone the other man is. They are not alike. They are not similar. Jim is a wild loose canon. He could have been a great genius, but his existence proves that somewhere along the line Sherlock did something right – he may not be socially adept, but he is not Moriarty.

“You're just getting that now?” Jim raises a brow and mocks him with a high pitched falsified laugh. The crass expression makes his linear features stand out and curves his cheeks pleasantly.

Suddenly something snaps within Sherlock. He pulls away from Jim as if the man has physically attacked him rather than just laughed in his face. For a moment his subconscious asks itself if he could live with this – however little that might be – and Sherlock finds he can.

The detective snatches the pill and in that same movement fluidly jams it between that smug grin Moriarty proudly wears. As Sherlock goes to act Jim lifts his hand, and they grab at each other with shifting balance. Jim cannot wrangle out of Sherlock's lengthy limbs and when the detective presses Moriarty to his chest he frees up one hand to force the pill in the man. Sherlock gets the wiggly fiend to swallow by holding his nose, all the while his dark eyes glare at Sherlock.

When they part it is with the force of a punch, though none is delivered. Jim moves away, and Sherlock wrenches him back. Sherlock knows Jim could always vomit the pill but that would not befit their game. They struggle, Jim to escape and Sherlock to grab hold of him. Looking into those amber pools he knows Jim will not do it, he will not belittle their endeavor by forcing the pill out of him. Now they play for keeps.

Sherlock grabs the man by the shoulder, heaving the two of them to the edge. Strong, pale limbs wind around Jim and hold them firmly together while they plummet over the edge. He knows that what Jim Moriarty set into place is still going... the snipers will still act. They have to see Sherlock fall.

Sherlock still has to jump, but he does not do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching an ending! 
> 
> Sorry it is a sad one though...
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	84. 920

Sherlock listens to his tirade, but more than that, he watches Jim. The detective notices the injurious way the man looks when describing Sherlock as an ordinary person. Moriarty's disgust toward the populous of lesser intelligence had always been clear, yet not his level of frustration. Underneath that playful exterior his lonely emptiness barely peeked through.  
  
The consulting detective sees it. As a youth he would see family photos and that would be his expression. Within Moriarty he does see himself. For that reason Sherlock quietly asks, “Do your thoughts never stop?”  
  
Jim lifts his head with a furrowing brow, eyes alight with intrigue. Surveying the tall figure looming over him with casual body language and attentive eyes.

At the villain's silence Sherlock asks, “Is there noise always there?”  
  
All his life Sherlock has felt that endless yawing of his mind. For some reason his mind is always set up to think and analyze, and without diverting from that his waking moments can become torturous. Sherlock can never let go, not as other people do, and he thinks Jim cannot either.  
  
“Yes.” Moriarty says quietly from his settled position, lifting his gaze. “All the time, like a metronome clicking thoughts into my head.” He sighs softly, speaking in the most genuine manner Sherlock has ever seen – there is no showmanship in the man now. “An endless beating too fast to be clockwork, always churning out thoughts even when my mind feels overflowing.”  
  
Sherlock nods with as much understanding as he can, feeling kinship as a member of the same esoteric club as Jim. This is not the first time he has felt their similarities, either.  
  
When a moment of quiet has passed, both men waiting to see if the proverbial shoe will drop, Jim speaks again with quiet admission. “I knew we're just alike, you and I..”

******[Jim asks if they can make it stop, together.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777269)**  
  
 **[Or are they twisted up in love?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777271)**


	85. 921

Slowly Jim rises to his feet, taking the few steps to meet Sherlock. Barely a yard between them as they eyed each other as if their feud was for the entire world, not their own personal enmity.

“If we were together more, would it stop?” Jim asks with a breathless quietly, looking into the eyes of his enemy with a strange psychotic hope.  
  
Those dark amber eyes swim with blazing emotion, and Sherlock feels overwhelmed looking into them. “If we helped each other I would be a different person.” He points out the logic before speaking, his words a bit enigmatic, but Jim is more than capable of fathoming him, “I like who I am now, and I don't care what the rest of the world thinks of me.”  
  
Such an answer makes Jim almost snarl, as Sherlock is rejecting his sudden hope. The changeable man had been interested in that coupling, but he could understand that Sherlock was unwilling. “That didn't answer my last question, but it did the next.” He murmurs, turning away from Sherlock. Jim takes a step, cracking his neck.  
  
“I will say this..” Sherlock turns and looks with a narrowed gaze, “I can't begin to wonder what I would be like without you." Words of such admission came slowly – letting Jim know he was right, that every fairytale did need an old fashioned villain.  
  
That did give Jim pause, if only for a moment.  
  
“You won't have to.” Moriarty murmurs quietly, pivoting back around with a semiautomatic in his hands. The split second it took to lift was enough for Sherlock to see the mad determination in his eyes.

One fluid lift of his arm..

The lightest squeeze of the trigger...  
  
The world's only consulting detective is shot as his expression turns to surprise.  
  
No time to consider his death, just the sleek body crumbling before Jim, who slowly lowers his hand. "Because I don't need you, Sherlock Holmes." His shoulders slump slightly, the rest of Jim's body remaining bristled. "You're ordinary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching an ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	86. 925

Sherlock scrutinizes the other man as if he is a painting in a gallery. “You could be incredible.” He admits it to the only figure who truly understands him. Even if that person is volatile and homicidal he is still the only one Sherlock needs no explanation for.  
  
Jim repeated dubiously in his soft rolling accent, “Could?” A tiny smile begins on his face, quickly spreading as if his emotions cannot help but grow once freed. The nefarious murder walks toward his archenemy with a childishly shy gait.  
  
Arrogantly, a shaggy, wide brow rose up and Sherlock nodded slightly. Their skirmishes are a bit like fencing – lots of hits to the sword, to show one means business. “You could be more than you are now..” The low admission coming with a quiver to his words. “Our genius together could do amazing things.”  
  
Jim Moriarty faltered and lifted his chin up, back to its normal level. He purses his lips at the other man, “Don't go on about us working together to cure cancer..”  
  
“No.” Sherlock agrees swiftly, taking charge to walk the rest of the way. He closes the gap between them, getting into Moriarty's personal space. They stand within inches of each other, staring interminably. “Run away with me.”  
  
“Sherlock..” Chuckles Jim under his breath, eyes turning down for a moment before he lifts them back up to the detective's bright gaze. “We're so alike one of us will go mad.” He softly teases in a singsong voice.  
  
After a brief moment of hesitation Sherlock bent down using the muscles in his upper back and placed a soft kiss to Jim's temple. “I'll risk going mad to be with you.”  
  
“You're such a virgin..” Jim sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. He began to turn away, but Sherlock felt his confidence return as Jim said, “Come, let's amend that.”  
  
In his own teasing way Jim agrees to run away with him, and as he does Sherlock knows life will never be dull again.  
  
  
 ******[Time to make an amendment..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1777163)**


	87. 536

Usually. ****  
  
John sits up in an unlit room and looks wildly around him, as he wakes up in the midst of a night terror. Very rarely do they come to him when he is in Sherlock's embrace, but the few that do always sting bitterly. His pillow looks dark, sticky with sweat, and a further turn of his head reveals the bedside table and a digit clock reading 3:50am. John groans and sighs, rubbing his forehead with his worn hand.

The bed beside him stirs. “John?” Sherlock moves, speaks, then touches, because he knows better than to startle John when he looks haunted at this time of night.

Then he feels the detective's fingers sliding around his wrist like coiling ivy. His touch immediately yields gentle soothing sensation over him, especially the thrumming heart racing in John's chest.

Sherlock sits up all the way and wraps both bony arms tight around John, who leans into his embrace with grateful willingness. No words are needed to convey what is already known, so one merely holds the other while the emotion turns off as does a slowly turning spout.  
  
When John shifts away he pauses to brush his lips over Sherlock's sculpted jaw. He flips his pillow and lies back down with a soft groan. Behind him the detective does the same, moving around a little as he gets comfortable again before sliding his arm around John's waist, bringing them together in a snug fit.

The doctor smiles slightly and intertwines his fingers with those of the man spooning against him. Life at 221b is different indeed, but so much better now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	88. 327

Sherlock's skills have not ceased to amaze his flatmate. “What else can you tell from her letter?” Inquires John, heading over to make a fresh cup of tea.

“If she invites me to her home after reading your blog then she is aware I will find the truth.” Begins the detective with unintentional arrogance. “She is an intelligent woman yet offers no explanation to how this man arrived in her room, and calls him 'our' friend not her husband's – whatever it is she thinks she knows the precise reason. Perhaps she is involved.”  
  
He unfolds the letter again and his eyes peruse it for any final clues. “With due discretion..” Repeats the detective curiously, moving into the living room to find his lap top.  
  
“Fancy a cuppa?” John says to his retreating form, getting a nondescript mutter out of the other man and taking it a yes.

With a few minutes to warm the water he prepares the cup and saucers, then once ready pours out the tea. John makes Sherlock's as he likes it, knowing how he takes his tea along with a lengthy list of other quirks and caprices.

What he sees almost makes him spill a little on himself, “Sherlock.. why are you on Facebook?”

His response is swift and succinct, without any shame to it. “I'm researching, John.” **  
**

Nonplussed, the doctor moves beside him, looking on curiously for a few moments. Though he quickly gets bored reading artificially cheery comments and starts to study Sherlock instead – crisp alert eyes so bright with far more interest than John could have at the task. The sandy haired man looks to set lips and the slight shag to his friend's brows as Sherlock studies the pages.

After a quarter of an hour spent surfing the social network Sherlock closes his laptop and takes up his now well cooled tea. “How disappointing.” He remarks after the initial sip.  
  
“The tea?” John frowns as he has not made it any differently than usual.

“The case. I've solved it.” Sherlock answers with dismissive disappointment.  
  
John raises a brow, giving him a look that says he simply must continue.  
  
“I tracked Mrs. Cantlemere's account since she appears by her letter to be a social woman and I was right. Within the many comments – most quite garish remarks about her garden – are vague well wishes for her daughter. The girl has an account herself but its usage is spotty.” Sherlock pauses to take a sip of tea, for the case rates low on his level of interest – indeed, it has only taken him twenty minutes since reading the letter to unravel all parts.

“When cross referencing their accounts I noticed few reiteration of friends. Of those few individuals I believe to be the man found in Claudia Cantlemere's wardrobe.”

“Is he dating the daughter?” John asks, trying to find where this odd tale is heading.  
  
“Hardly. Given what I can tell of her page and its periods of inactivity, along with the vague 'get well' style messages on her mother's account, I would deduce that Ms. Cantlemere is a drug addict. This was Mrs. Cantlemere's way of sending her daughter funds to sustain herself following an episode.”

“She gave her the pearls?” John tries to catch up to Sherlock.  
  
“The pearls were given to a trustworthy second party, likely to oversee their spending on maintaining her instead of drugs.” Sherlock corrects. “I am sure Claudia Cantlemere did not intend her husband to walk in during the hand off. Given the man we met yesterday I would say his approach has been a hard one to his daughter and that Mrs. Cantlemere would rather risk her marriage than her daughter.”

  
“Mother's love..” John remarks with a sigh. As confusing as cases can be, sometimes it is the humanity within them that strikes him more than any convoluted detail does. “So what are you going to do?” John is perplexed yet moved by this case.  
  
“I will write to Roger Cantlemere and tell him the truth – that his wife did not cheat on him. Beyond that he may make of it what he wishes.” This is a rather clear cut case to him for Sherlock does his best not to get bogged down by the social concerns of others.  


**[John discusses the nature of romance...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775304)**  
  
 **[Sherlock checks the web for more cases.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775205)**  



	89. 640

As they lie there in a post coital hold with Sherlock's arms wrapped around Jim, who lies on Sherlock with his chest against the detective's chest. “All my life,” Jim whispers against the shell of his former nemesis' ear, “.. I've felt like I was just staying alive. Just staying.” The words are breathless in their honesty.  
  
Jim pulls back a bit, letting the unabashed joy show in his normally mischievous, now somber eyes. “Then I met you.” His lips quirk into a lopsided grin.

“I've never met anyone like you..” Sherlock agrees softly, eyes roaming over the Irishman before he lifts a hand and lets his fingertips traipse down Jim's unmarred back.  
  
“In the end, it was easy.” Jim snickers gently, dropping his head and placing a row of kisses down Sherlock's immobile arm. He sighs and licks the detective's fingers once he reaches the end, “I'm glad I don't have to go back to playing with the ordinary people.”  
  
Up comes that dark golden gaze, much like tainted money of old. Jim looks utterly serious and reverent as he leans in and whispers, “You're not ordinary... You're not just like any of them.”  
  
Sherlock sighs and arches a little, heaving Jim up with him as he cracks some muscles in his back, breaking up minor tensions. “You nearly had me thinking so.” Murmurs the detective.

With a chuckle the other man drops his over dramatic act and with obvious playfulness sits up and asks, “Didn't you like my little touch at the end there?”  
  
“Hm? Oh, Rich Brook?” Sherlock is caught off guard in the loose cuddling aftermath of their bliss. Still, he knows exactly what Jim is talking about. Their minds working similarly, and so easily dropping in sync. “Of course.”  
  
“Atta boy..” Whispers Jim, leaning and nipping slowly down Sherlock's torso. His tongue slithering from between his lips, the pink hued appendage lavishing attention to one of the oval nubs on Sherlock's chest.

“Rich Brook is Reichenbach in German.” Elaborates the shadowy haired man with lessening assurance as the lascivious tongue begins to affect him. “The case that made my name.” Sherlock murmurs, running a hand through the short locks that have become soft and limp. “Becoming a softie, aren't you, Jim?” The madman's gesture to take Sherlock's name is the romantic equivalent of Jim taking on the last name Holmes, at least in their eyes.  
  
“Just trying to have some fun, lover.” Jim reroutes his lips downward, now seeking a different, more pleasurable, kind of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending (& my personal favorite)! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	90. 169

Sherlock pauses and listens discretely to the way the taps resound – firmly, and too loudly to be Mrs. Hudson's knuckles upon that hard grained wood. His eyes narrow suspiciously and edge to the door, “John, I'll get the door..”  
  
“Really?” John asks from the kitchen, straightening up and throwing a glance through the open doorway. “Thanks.” He says with a confused appreciation, since Sherlock rarely ever goes out of his way. Menial things like answers doors are usually John's forte. So he is more than happy to take his tea and head up to his room to change quickly.  
  
Sherlock straightens his jacket and squarely faces the door, “Who is it?” He inquires with only a modicum of actor's fluidity in his voice. He is almost over presenting himself with such a question. As he hears a scraping of what is, unless Sherlock is mistaken, the shifting of a new leather heel with, if the slight clinking sound is any indication, steel tips. Boots that went at least halfway to the knee. An adversary.  
  
The consulting detective shifts, turning perpendicular to the door as he opens it. A fist barrels in with its owner coming behind him – Sherlock's eyes snap to take him in, first noticing a shock of blond hair done in gelled spikes. He reeks of a militant attitude from the cut of his jaw to the rigidity of his back and the formation in his attacks, but there is a wild eyed rebellious look about him that says no government can lay a claim to him. Not without regretting it.  
  
  
 **[Moran knocks him out and goes up for John.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1780627)  
**

**[Sherlock... wins?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1780641)  **


	91. 172

Sherlock may have had a quick win with the punch he threw when Moran entered, but the man is too well built to be affected so easily. He levels a heavy fist on Sherlock's face, drawing blood from the detective's nostrils. When Sherlock remains standing Moran finds himself impressed.

John had been in the middle of changing, his trousers already on and his shirt still laid out upon the nearly made bed. His room, unlike Sherlock's, is not a harrowing place to enter, and with the window open it appears more bright and cheerful.  
  
The shock coming to the man, whose eyes immediately widen to cat-like proportions, would be comical if Moran had not taken out his gun on the way up the stairs. With a shiny 9mm in his hand John could only throw up his hands. “What do you want?” He asks the stranger with a heavy breath, full of fear yet resolute and steady. John's voice does not waver, and for a second time the occupants of the Baker Street flat impress Sebastian.  
  
“Moriarty wants to speak to you.” Moran does not need to gesture the gun, its presence and the lack of Sherlock's is enough to get him slowly walking over. Moran narrows his eyes, which for blue look so harsh to John. “Move!” He snaps as John does not move quick enough for his liking.  
  
After seeing Sherlock, passed out with what he thinks is a bloody nose (it upsets him being unable to check, but Moran waves him on), John cannot help but try and get the drop on the other man once they reach the stairs. He turns and tries tripping the blond up, but Moran yanks him into a firm hold, keeping John's arm behind his back. It makes his shoulder ache and he groans.

Still, once out on Baker Street, Moran has little trouble pushing John into an idling auto with tinted windows. John knows he does not keep terribly fit anymore, but he is still disgruntled at how easily this stranger can subdue him.

The air within the car is electric. The ride is awkward as both men stare at each other from opposite sides, with the barrel of Moran's trusty handgun pointed at John all the while.

When they stop and John gets a look at the series of tidy, posh little apartment condos he wonders why Moriarty would pick there. He has little time to wonder as he is thrust toward one and sent walking, his thoughts returning to Sherlock lying on the rug and waking up bloody and alone.  
  
  
 **Did Jim send for John...**

**[As a villain?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1784122)**   
  
**[For a romantic reason?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1784133)**   
  



	92. 170

The other man had been expecting to hit someone, charging in with force. Sherlock thus gets an opportunity to smash his fist right into the sinewy blond's side. The intruder is barely slowed, and much like a charging bear simply reroutes his force.

Still, Sebastian likes Holmes' way of attack – not too posh, as he expected from a man of his mind and attitude, but nowhere near the level of a street fighter. Somewhat like a brilliant amalgamation. Sherlock is unique, and in a world of monotony unique is a challenge – and all true men of sport can appreciate a good challenge.

Their flurry of fists is short lived when Sebastian's fists lay such force on the consulting detective that Sherlock falls back against the sofa. He sprawls awkwardly, only half on it, until Sebastian knocks him fully stretched out over it by climbing on his waist.

Moran grabs the pale throat beneath him, panting softly. Sherlock scratches at his forearms for a moment, and all Sebastian can think is how damn gorgeous those beryl blue eyes look stretched open as they are now. He holds on long enough to drive a rainbow of color over Sherlock's face as he is deprived of oxygen.  
  
Sherlock reaches up for his eyes, and his long limbs let him make it there, but Moran bites at his hands like some beast. As feeling starts to fade and things grow hazy the violinist's digits drop downward.  
  
Then, to Sherlock's surprise it all comes rushing back, and he is gasping and coughing. His attacker still rests on his waist – with, he notices six seconds before getting his breath back, a sizable increase of hardness in his pants.

“You are as gorgeous and worth it as he said..” Sebastian mutters breathlessly, nearly catching his. Instead of strangling Sherlock he strokes along that perfect cheekbone.

Once Sherlock regains his woozy mind he can take stock of what is happening. Internally he can only hear the screaming of his mind as it tells him to push the intruder off him, to do whatever it takes to get the blond away. Every never is on edge waiting to send that heavy pressure off his pelvis. A part of him does like the adrenalin, the rush, and the handsome cut of this Adonis-like man.

Moran came there to be a kidnapper, but instead he finds himself leaning down and placing a rough, dominating kiss on the foe he has heard Jim describe, enraptured, for endless weeks. Sherlock's inactive body roars to life and rebounds like a starving figure does in a restaurant. He throws his arms around Sebastian and holds the militant man to him, which is fine with Sebastian who only seems to want to eat Sherlock from the inside out.  
  
Their hips thrash a little, but for the most part both men just want to grope each other. They take turns yanking garments off, just to resume their kisses with the force of two tornadoes meeting. Soon they both lose their breaths, yet forcefully continue with greater urgency between them.  
  
“Sherlock?” Says a familiar voice as a teddy bear like figure enters the room, his jaw dropping.  
  
And that is how John Watson walked into the living room of 221b to find Sherlock with his trousers down, and, not only met Sebastian Moran, but saw the sculpted figure's muscles, rock hard looking thighs, and the tip of his prominent blood filled erection poking through his visible pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending (& the only Morlock one)!
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	93. 177

Sebastian's hand is tight on his shoulder, forcing him into the building. John does not turn around, only stopping when the taller man applies pressure with his clamping fingers. Sebastian opens the door and waves John inside.

It is a nice enough little place, though the sparse furnishings and lack of decoration make it obviously just a lay by in Jim's life. John is nervous but hoping this will be another one of Moriarty's 'look at how clever I am' jabbering sessions, with John trotting back to take the news home. He hates the imagery, but knows this is how Moriarty sees him – some frumpy sidekick.  
  
When John sees the well dressed villain in a swanky Saville Row suit he tries to think like Sherlock does. In a way that attitude helps steel his mind of fear – John bypasses Jim's aloof expression and easygoing smile and tries to see the criminal within.. but he is no Sherlock, and Jim gives her very little time.

“Hullo John.” Moriarty grins too widely, disconcerting John immensely. That look is far too pleased to bode well for him.  
  
Moriarty pulls a small whip off the table, smirking. Then John realizes he only mistook it for a whip, that in reality it is a riding crop.. Much like the one Sherlock has a proclivity for. For a moment his stomach sinks, wondering if Moriarty had gotten into their flat... stolen something of Sherlock's just to cause trouble.

Nothing is left to John's imagination because there is only one kind of trouble to cause with a riding crop.  
  
 **[Continue.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1775383)**


	94. 178

Their entrance is quiet and rather an anticlimactic end after the abrupt, hostile kidnapping. Equally unexciting is the cozy apartment, which is so tidy it is blatantly a stopping point instead of a true home. Still, the place has an unassuming air, and a lack of clutter makes it feel open and bright. The few additions are neat yet posh, and John notes a persistent pattern of stainless steel through the bits of the kitchen doorway he can see, and a red velvet-looking chaise lounge through another. The foyer is quiet.

Then Moriarty appears, and all thought of an anticlimax are gone. Whenever John has seen Jim there is always a formality to him, as if Jim irons himself out as well as his suits. He personifies an anachronistic air of grandeur that John has to admit is impressive, even in an enemy (still a madman).

Not this time. The man's posture is loose and his shoulders sag inwardly. Instead of a glaring stare at John, his head is tipped down slightly and his eyes barely make it level with John's. Even still dressed in a pinstripe Westwood he looks like completely another person.

Jim nods slightly and pivots on his heel as a skilled dancer might. The ghostly grace within his movements slows John enough that Moran has to prod him in the shoulder to remind John that Jim wants to be followed.  
  
Though, Moran himself stays in the foyer, leaving John to Jim. Even without red sniper dots on him John has no doubt that Moriarty has his own assurances in place – he glances left, then right, seeing nothing.. but the villain must, or how could he invite John in?

Moriarty gestures to a plush looking sofa as they enter, in offering to John as if he were a gracious host instead of a kidnapper. “I want to say something to you..” Jim murmurs softly once they arrive.  
  
“Go ahead.” Though flummoxed and apprehensive John is listening. It would be impossible to try and argue with Jim – for once not because he threatens John, or screams, or uses his rage, but because right now he looks startlingly human.  
  
  
 **What does Moriarty want to say?**

**["Ordinary people are adorable."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1785777)**  
  



	95. 179

Moriarty let loose a small smile as if he could not keep it back any longer. He has a childish excitement about him, lending the already drastically different man to appear as a stranger before John. Jim sits down beside John and is rather intimately close. Being beside Moriarty on a sofa is a trying enough experience as it is, but now John feels hot under the collar having Jim in his own personal bubble.

John's heart quickens as he watches the tip of Jim's tongue sneak out of his mouth and trail over his lower lip before he said in a heady voice, “I've always felt ordinary people..” Jim's slender figure angles itself a little more toward John's stouter one.

There is a soft swoosh of Jim's breath as he sighs and they are so close John barely feels it against his neck. “.. are adorable.” The nefarious man finishes with such a feathery voice that John half disbelieves that those same vocal chords half-frightened him to death when he screamed, “That's what people do!”

To him it sounds like an admittance of a crush, as foolish and childish as the thought sounds to his logical side it seems exactly befitting Jim's flirty attempt at coquettish behavior. John's heart picks up a beat, frustration mottling with his already vibrant concoction of emotions.

He feels layer after layer of emotion, like a children's sand sculpture from a fair, but most of all...  
  


**What does John think?**  
  
 **[He has trouble believing it.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1785779)**

**[Finally, Jim noticed him!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1785792)**


	96. 195

But most of all he feels anger. “Not to you.” John snipes in return with wavering conviction, shaking his head slightly as the other man turns his body away.  
  
There is no way this madman has any real feelings for him. John does not believe that – not after what happened at the pool.  
  
“Not all of them..” Corrects Jim in a soft, pleasing voice that John finds trouble associating with Moriarty the ne'er-do-well. It does not sound powerful, nor does it fill one's ear as Jim's voice usually does.

“You called me his pet.” John says through grit teeth, feeling as he imagines a kettle does just before it whistles. This is irritating and ridiculous, and whatever it is it could certainly not be a crush. John tells himself he must be wrong as he firms up a glare at Jim.

The slim crescent's on Jim's face begin to turn down at the harsh expression of his companion, but before they go too far Jim reaches a hand out and lays it on John's knee. John's gut plummets as he realizes he has been right.

“Maybe I was jealous..” Jim says with a huff, loathe to say such a thing. “Sherlock has you every night at Baker Street.”

“He does not 'have me' in any way, any night.” John insistently lays down the line once more that he and Sherlock are not lovers. Instead of achieving an effect, as if disinterest in Sherlock will prove he is not gay, Jim only brightens back up and squeezes John's knee.

“I think I should go.” John tries to get up, but a firm hand on his shoulder from Jim is a reminder that this is not a conversation he can opt out of.

“You don't believe me, do you?” Jim asks quietly. He slowly moves, getting onto his knees on the ground.

John's lower lip drops because he knows exactly what Jim is insinuating, or offering, John is not sure what to call it. His heart hammers and thinking becomes difficult as Jim strokes along one of his thigh, smiling with those unapologetically vibrant eyes.

“I can show you, Johnny-boy..” Whispers Jim in an alluring coo with such temptation that Lucifer himself would be hard pressed to top him.

  
 **[Oh, John wants it alright..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1785784)**

**[Moriarty on his cock? Hell no!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1785789)**


	97. 196

Normally John Watson plays by the rules. He is not one to go looking for trouble, not John. He is a man of integrity and honor – sure he likes danger, but that does not mean he alters his scruples for it. Except for tonight...

“Then show me.” John hears himself say before he can even consider the words. There is a twitch of his responding shaft, and a quickening to his pulse after he agrees.

When the doctor gives his agreement Jim slides his wandering hand across John's thigh instead of up, lightly caressing his groin. Sherlock's blogger takes in a deep breath as Jim's naughty, nimble fingers start to feel him through his trousers. John groans within his throat and stiffens a little more – all thoughts of second guessing his sudden agreement are lost.

Fingers fly to John's belt, unbuckling him swiftly as Jim is hit with an urgency to have more flesh. “I'm gonna make it so good for you, John..” Jim whispers eagerly, the cadence of his voice getting faster in the excitement. He dips his shoulders down and nuzzles John's groin through his pants fabric, getting his lips on John's shaft, smiling against the cotton briefs.

Jim laps a wet patch over John's pants, licking along the clothed shaft and making the fabric stick to him. John's hips quivered against the lurid touch and his pulse picked up. After precious little torture Jim gets him to a stiff state, with the outline of his shaft brought on by that naughty Irish tongue.  
  
It awes John that two ornamental looking appendages could be capable of both harsh threats and incalculable pleasure. Jim is an experienced figure when it comes to roaming around a man, and he hooks his fingers in John's pants to tug them down. The doctor shifts, letting the cotton slide down his broad thighs. Of course Moriarty only waits until John bobs free before returning to his spot between John's legs.

Over the next ten minutes John learns that getting a blowjob from a man is nothing like getting one from a woman. Experienced or not, most of them knew what to do but never how it felt – so in a way they went through the motions. Not Moriarty. Jim reads his tells and responds, knowing what ministration to do next or what would pair well, since he understands what John is feeling far better than any woman would.

John groans lowly, a soft, dragging sound that gradually ascents in pitch as Jim's tongue slides over his slit. If Jim had been able to he would have told John that he sounded magnificently guttural.

He reaches down while his stomach undulates forward, thrusting his rounded form into Jim's face and making the villain groan. John's fingers try to tangle in the short locks, but barely get any grip before the strands end. Jim's hair is just too short, but John tries again and again with shaking fingers. He finally gives up and rams his fingers between the sofa cushions, a keen moan leaving him and filling Jim's flat.

Jim's head slows its bobbing, his teeth barely scraping against the side of John's shaft. It sends a jerk through the doctor, whose head is back against the sofa. Jim is not shy in the slightest, taking the most immense pleasure in teasing John with wide, open lips.

The delight is too much for the older man to take. John's hips rock outward from the seat, getting a little more of his erection down Jim's open throat. Moriarty relaxes his throat with a sneaking suspicion that is proved on the money as a salty, creamy spray hits the back of Jim's tonsils.  
  
Jim takes his mouth off John's limping form, but his tongue flickers across the head to swipe John's hole at the tip for any final dribble, looking like a distant relative of the snake with the movement.

Not quite up to his standard preference, but a fair start for the gold-hearted doctor – and Jim is sure this is only a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending! 
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	98. 197

John shakes his leg, trying to knock Jim off without really hurting him. Even horny and crazy Moriarty would not get a kick in the face from John. At least not until Jim tries to forcefully stay between his legs. Then John finds it a problem and shoves him aside with his thigh, pushing into Jim's shoulder with his knee and successfully getting to his feet.  
  
“I'm not letting your mouth anywhere near me.” John nearly spat the words, dubious of the well attired Irishman. The doctor levels a hard stare, pointing at the man still on his the floor. His voice booms in that gentle way of his, “You're insane, but this is by far the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen!”  
  
Jim frowns and looks up at John through his lashes. “Is that a no?” Asks the villain as his enemy's best friend is halfway across the room.

John does not stop, and neither does he answer.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you hit a sad ending – hit backspace and try again?
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


	99. 199

But most of all he feels thrilled. Excitement reigns over him as Jim finally gets his attention, instead of incessantly chasing after Sherlock.

John has always been attracted to something about a dangerous person..  
  
An enigmatic person..  
  
Someone he can feel he understand, but someone that nonetheless surprises him.  
  
To John Watson love is not about what is in the person's pants but what they are composed of. Jim Moriarty is an exertion of criminal force, a man of intellectual prowess and mystery. Jim Moriarty is danger incarnate. The catalyst of London's terror is, in John's eyes, a sophisticatedly dressed wild spirit.

Unlike Sherlock, Jim has a handle on social affairs, too. His charisma exudes confidence (even when one is pointing a gun at him, or vice versa) and he is enough of a flirt to send John's cheeks pink. He is a murderer, true, but the longer John is around him the more he sees. Jim is a fascinating man that keeps him up at night.. He has pleasured himself while thinking of the supposed villain, not that anyone else knows but him. At present just him knowing is enough.

So the opportunity to take his worn palm and brush it along Jim's thigh, and hear the subsequent sharp intake of breath like sipping soup, is nothing short of unrestrained pleasure to John. He lets his fingers trail up, with Jim moving his arms out of the way so that John has access to him.  
  
Moriarty's eyes are wide and milky white around the pupil, so gorgeously spirited as they glowing from the touch of John's fingers over him, as if he has been aching for the same. John's digits trail over his stomach, and even through his silken vest Jim's skin tingles. He wants the real thing, but this is still heating his veins. “John..” He murmurs, looking into the eyes of the brunette, who is still watching his hand.

John is awed that he can touch Jim now. His hand moves up Jim's torso, flattening a little more against his chest. His eyelids flutter while his finger starts sliding over Jim's nipple and he wonders how different making love to a man is than to a woman. Jim's body shifts slightly at the touch over his expensive clothes. The doctor knows he wants to find out.

It is then that John's eyes finally rise up to meet Jim's, slowly and naturally like a sunrise. Their masks are set aside and both feel content at what they see. Jim's eyes are a whirlpool of dark furor, honestly excited for their coupling, so John feels confident he is seeing the true Jim and not Moriarty the crazy genius. John's eyes are unfaltering with confidence and lips parted with baited breath, so Jim knows he is truly interested and not after getting his foot in the door for information to help John's detective.

“Yes.” John murmurs to the unspoken question.  
  
Jim's expression remains unchanged, since John's actions spoke miles above his words, but that soft little word did entice him to lean in and press his soft lips to John's plusher ones. John – his new beau.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on reaching a happy ending!
> 
> Since there are choices, you can always redo this and find a new trail to blaze! There are over 20 endings to choose from... [Back to the beginning..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159)
> 
> I really want to hear what people think when they're through it; Please comment!


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